


Dusty Memories

by SweetInsanityWrites (SweetInsanityArts)



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Canon Divergence - Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie), Feels, Fix-It of Sorts, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Implied/Referenced Torture, Light Angst, M/M, Memories, Minor Violence, Mutual Pining, Recovery, Shipping, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Stucky - Freeform, Trauma, diary entries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-03
Updated: 2018-11-11
Packaged: 2019-06-01 11:56:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 33,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15142559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SweetInsanityArts/pseuds/SweetInsanityWrites
Summary: Steve Rogers could not recall feeling any sort of emotion in the past years.Not after the first night he’d spent alone in SHIELD’s hospital-like room and realized that everyone he knew and loved was dead. It had hurt so much he thought it would kill him. Unfortunately, it didn’t. So he moved on.He had a purpose. A mission. Fury gave him a target and he moved. No deaths unless unavoidable. He was a soldier, following orders, for the good of his country. At least he hoped so. Each day he was Captain America was a day he wasn't Steve Rogers, which was good because it hurt to be Steve Rogers.So, he built a wall and tried not to feel. He decided to be empty, because what else was there, what was the point.Until he got that text. That damn text.“They’re cleaning up the archives. Barnes’ belongings where cleared. Pick them up at 0800 tomorrow. - F”





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> There's not much information on what happened in Bucky's life between the scenes he has in the CA movies.  
> I feel like there is a story to tell about those gaps, so I thought why not discover that story with together with Steve.
> 
> This is just a short prologue to get everyone interested, I am working hard on making the following chapters longer and more detailed than my previous Stucky fic.
> 
> I hope you enjoy and don't forget to bookmark to get notified when I update ;)

 

 

The sun was beginning to set and the workers were tired and slightly annoyed. Working for a secret government organization had sounded alot more badass on paper. Like fighting and sneaking and explosions, like a movie. Instead, the new recruits were digging through dusty old paper and boxes upon boxes of useless random stuff that had belonged to some dude or other, a lifetime ago. 

 

Half of them were taking the notes, trying to decide what had to be kept as evidence or heirloom or whatever, and what to toss away. At first they had taken alot of care with it, cross-checking names and dates, looking for surviving family members who might want to take a look at old journals and shirts and jewelry of a long dead relative. 

 

But as the day went on and on, they grew tired and careless. Whatever. This trash had spent decades in some dusty old shelf. Why would anyone need it now?

They didn’t even know why SHIELD kept this in the first place. 

 

“Well, that’s another shelf done.” Said a middle-aged woman with short hair and stern eyes. She frowned. She had wanted to save the world, yet here she was, cleaning. Like she hadn’t spent her whole life doing exactly that. “Which one’s next?” She sighed. Tired. Annoyed. 

The elderly man doing the list pointed at a large metal locker that was kept shut with multiple heavy locks. “This one’s ought to be interesting.” He declared. 

 

“What could possibly be more interesting than decade old kids drawings and rusty jewelry?” Commented a young man, who was leaning against a pile of “to keep” boxes, scowling. 

The old man shook his head, pointing at his list. “That locker keeps the archived belongings of the Howling Commandos, my boy. These guys were legends.” 

 

A girl on the other side of the room jumped up. “Howling Commandos? I read about them in the museum.” She jogged up to the locker. “Can we open it?” 

She watched curiously as the old man opened lock after lock and carefully pulled open the heavy doors. More boxes. 

 

The middle-aged woman groaned. The young man rolled his eyes. The girl leaned forward, carefully pulling out the first box. “James Morita?” She read. 

The young man sighed and typed the name into his laptop. “Dude’s got descendants in New York.” He said. “Anything interesting?” 

 

Carefully, the girl opened the box, searching through it’s contents. A few pictures, notes, sketches, letters to he’s written to his family but never sent. They put it on the “family” pile. 

 

She took out the next box. “This name seems familiar.” She said, furrowing her brows. “James Barnes.”    
The old man let out a noise of surprise. “Captain Americas best friend. He was in the comics. And the museum.” He moved forward, taking a look inside. 

“Who cares. Got no living relatives, so it’s all trash anyway.” The young man commented. 

The old man shook his head violently. “Don’t you dare!” He took out a small leather book, skipping through the pages. “If anything, donate these to the museum. These are precise calculations Barnes did for his shooting. He was an excellent sniper, I read that in the comics.” The man’s face glowed with excitement. He took out a pile of carefully folded letters from his family, a few drawings from younger siblings, showing the Sergeant in various hero poses. An old watch, pictures, same as with the other soldiers. 

He was about to shut the box, when something caught his eye. Carefully wrapped in brown packing paper, with “Hands Off!” scrawled on it, was a worn-down hardcover book. The old hands unwrapped it, carefully opening the the frayed cover, moving the brown, crumpled pages. 

 

“This book belongs to:” Was printed on the first page. “BuCkY” Was clumsily written under it, with the messy handwriting of a child.    
“James Buchanan Barnes” Was written below it in a tidier handwriting.   
“Bucky Barnes” Said the third attempt

 

“You know what, kid…” The man said softly. “Tell Fury to call Captain Rogers. He’ll wanna take a look at this.”


	2. 01 - childhood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve felt his face get hot and sticky. He didn’t bother wiping the tears off. They’d probably keep coming.  
> But he felt like he owed it to Bucky. Just this one night. Before he’d make the pain stop and build up his walls and moved on.
> 
> Warning for hinted violence and domestic abuse

“Barnes’ belongings were cleared.”

 

The name alone felt like a kick to the chest. Steve stared at the text. He could ignore it. Pretend he didn’t care. Let them throw the stuff away, burn it. What use was it anyway? 

What was he supposed to do with old letters and heirlooms. Nothing but dead memories.

But … But. 

The thought of SHIELD burning the last traces of Bucky Barnes … he couldn’t bare the thought. 

 

Not after his old childhood home had been torn down to built a 7Eleven. 

Not after the last of the Barnes’ had died before Steve had a chance to visit. 

Bucky had lived. He’d lived so brightly and bravely and people hardly cared to remember.

Sure, there was the museum, mentioning him on a small display as Captain America’s best friend. But he’d been so much more than that.

 

Steve didn’t want to forget. As much as remembering hurt him, he owed him that much.

Maybe the museum would want some of his possessions, something that told the story of the man who’d kept his family alive working three jobs while his father was in prison and his best friend was close to dying. 

The man who’d been a hero, without serums and guns and wars.

 

So he reinforced his wall and confirmed Fury’s messaged.

Keep on moving, soldier.

 

________________________

 

It was easier than he had expected. At first. 

All Steve had to do was sign a few papers and take the dusty old box off an old man’s hands, who got very excited and asked him to sign his comic books. 

But behind that excitement and adoration was kindness. Understanding. Warmth. 

The man had found the box, had seen what was inside. 

And he knew the kind of pain that would wait for him if he ever opened it. 

 

if 

 

It glared at him from his coffee table now. 

The name written on it’s side in neat capital letters.

His name. 

 

Steve spent three days ignoring it. He stacked his things around it so it would stop glaring. It didn’t help.

The fourth day, he moved it to the kitchen table since he didn’t feel like eating anyway.

The fifth day, he wiped off the layer of dust and put it in his study that he never used.

The sixth day he didn’t come home.

 

A week after picking up the box of memories, Steve gave up.   
A box full of  _ him _ . He couldn’t keep ignoring it forever. 

He took a deep breath and gathered all his courage.

 

__________________

 

He sat on the soft carpet in his living room, the box placed before him, drawings neatly spread out, sorted by date. 

A few empty bottles of wine next to him.

Damn, he wished the alcohol had any effect. 

 

Most of the drawings where Becca’s. Steve remembered how she’d asked him for lessons. He taught her how to use basic shapes to understand proportions, how to build skeletons with circles and squares. Sometimes he took her to the park and let her use his paints and together they’d try to capture all the colours they saw. She saw more colours than him. He liked that. 

 

Becca died five years before Steve got out of the ice.

Her only child, a son, followed a year after. 

 

The twins had been very little when their older brother went to war. 

Their drawings were messy and simple. But they had asked their mother to write stories they’d made up, so he would have a bed time story to read. 

Bucky had told the best bedtime stories. When Steve visited, they’d both make up adventures together, letting the kids decide where the story went along the way. 

 

Both of them had died of fever only a few weeks after Steve had crashed into the ice.

They’d been so young. 

 

Steve never got to see any of them again. 

To tell them how amazing Buck had been. How brave and strong and kind and good. 

He wondered if anyone knew, besides him. 

Did the comics capture him like that, true and loyal and funny?

Did the history books?

He had never dared to check.

 

Steve felt his face get hot and sticky. He didn’t bother wiping the tears off. They’d probably keep coming.

But he felt like he owed it to Bucky. Just this one night. Before he’d make the pain stop and build up his walls and moved on.

Soldier.

 

There were some letters in there, from his family, sharing painfully normal things about school work and Becca had won in a contest and Dad hadn’t been drunk in two weeks and the twins stayed the weekend at Uncle Jerry’s without getting homesick.

 

Steve wondered what Bucky had replied. If he had replied. 

Had he told them about the war? About HYDRA? About the factory? 

… about Steve.

 

He put the letters down next to the drawings.

His head hurt. It felt heavy with memories and crying and he was tired. It was late.

He choked back his tears, angry at himself and at SHIELD for keeping these damn things and at Bucky for falling.

But mostly, he knew, he was angry because they didn’t look for him.

Never retrieved his body.

Just left him behind, in the cold. 

 

Steve jumped to his feet, gasping at the pain in his chest, worse than a hundred bullets (he knew, he’d been there). It took his breath away, clawing at him, turning him inside out. 

He yelled in anger and agony, cursed, and kicked the box away from him. 

The box flew and crashed against his bookshelf. 

Crumbled packing paper slid from between the stacks of letters and drawings. 

Something from behind the torn brown sheets caught Steve’s attention.

 

He bent down, peeling the paper away carelessly, to find the ancient looking notebook.

It felt familiar, tugging at his memories. He hesitated, running his fingers over the wrinkled spine, lost in thought, before he dropped himself on the couch, opening the the torn cover.

 

“BuCkY” 

>   
>    
>    
> 
> 
> March 10th, 1929
> 
>  
> 
> Mum got me this book for my birthday. She says it’s good for me to write down how I feel. I don’t care about my feelings much. But I think, one day when I am famous, I can sell this book and be rich, though I’ll already be rich so I’m not sure if I actually need this book after all.
> 
>  
> 
> I don’t know what I will be famous for but that don’t matter much, people get famous for stupid things all the time.
> 
>  
> 
> My name is James. But I don’t like the name very much, so everyone calls me Bucky. I am twelve years old. 
> 
> My best friend is called Steve. People think he’s weird and he is but he is also the coolest guy I know. He can draw really well and someday he might also be famous and rich.
> 
>  
> 
> I met Steve two years ago when some mean bully was trying to steal his lunchbox. You’d think Steve would’ve run away from them, since he’s very skinny and weak and he’s always sick. But he punched them and bit them and tried to fight them. 
> 
> He lost and the kid ran away with his lunch.
> 
>  
> 
> I gave him my scarf to wipe the blood of his face and then I offered him half my lunch. After that, Steve just kinda stuck around. Like a stray puppy that you feed once and then it keeps coming back to you. 
> 
>  
> 
> We play fun games and tell each other stories. Steve doesn’t care that I don’t have alot of money and I don’t care that Steve isn’t very strong. 
> 
>  
> 
> It’s been a long day and I need to go to bed, but I will be back and write more!
> 
>  

Steve ran his fingers across the page. He felt oddly calm. In his mind he could see him, the little boy with his messy long hair, writing down whatever came to his mind. 

It moved Steve alot to see Bucky had written about him alot. 

It made sense, they had spent almost every day together and didn’t have many other social contacts until they got older, but it still touched him to read Bucky’s thoughts.

 

> March 12th, 1929
> 
>  
> 
> Today after school, Steve got in a fight with Carl, who is very big and very bad. And he smells. 
> 
> It wasn’t much of a fight. I took off my jacket to stop Steve’s nose from bleeding and Ma got very mad because now it’s stained and I don’t have another jacket. 
> 
>  
> 
> When I asked Steve why he fought Carl, he said it was because he tried to steal Maggie’s lunch money this morning. 
> 
> We’re not even friends with Maggie. I don’t like her, she smells like copper and she called my dad mean things once. 
> 
>  
> 
> I think Steve likes to fight. 
> 
> I think he wants to be like his dad, who fought in the war and people say he was very brave. 
> 
> He died.
> 
> I don’t know if being brave is any good if you’re dead. 
> 
> Ma says I shouldn’t talk like that.
> 
> But in my book I can say what I want.
> 
>  
> 
> We finished our homework early, so Ma let us go out to the park. I like watching the people and make up stories about them. Steve likes to draw the birds and the lake.
> 
> Today a nice man let us play with his dog.
> 
> We let him fetch sticks and gave him treats and the man taught us how to shake his paw. 
> 
> I told Ma that I want a pet but she said having children is hard enough.
> 
>  
> 
> Dad had a good day today, so he gave me some money and said I can go see a movie with Steve next weekend! 
> 
> It’s been a good day.
> 
>   
>    
> 
> 
> April 5th, 1929
> 
>  
> 
> Steve is sick again. He has a fever. I am staying with him, he’s asleep now but I am worried. Sometimes he sees things that aren’t there and other times he can’t speak and his eyes look all wrong. 
> 
>  
> 
> Steve gets sick alot. Sometimes it isn’t too bad. Sometimes it is. Dad doesn’t like that I stay with him when it gets bad, he’s scared I’ll get sick too.
> 
>  
> 
> I would never leave Steve. We are sharing the bed, we always do because he only has one, but when he’s got a fever, he gets cold, so I pull him really close and warm. 
> 
> Steve’s body is very hot so I get sweaty and very very warm but it’s okay, because Steve is my friend.
> 
>  
> 
> I can’t sleep, it’s too warm and I’m too worried. 
> 
> Steve is all curled up next to me, like a puppy and I sorta wanna pet him. 
> 
>   
>    
> 
> 
> March 11th, 1929
> 
>  
> 
> I think Steve is feeling better. Mrs Rogers stopped crying and made us breakfast and that’s a good sign. 
> 
> I will read Steve a book, he will like that. When he feels better, he can paint scenes from the book! 
> 
> ___
> 
>  
> 
> We read a story about pirates.
> 
> Steve painted a really nice picture of me and him on a deserted island. We are making a camp and telling stories of our adventures at the fireplace. It’s a good picture. 
> 
>  
> 
> I was really sad to go home but Mrs Rogers said Steve needs rest and she wants some time alone with him. She promised I can come back to play tomorrow. 
> 
>  
> 
> When I got home, dad was out again, so I had to help Ma with the cooking and play with the twins and read Becca a story. 
> 
> There where new bruises on mum’s arms. 
> 
> Now I feel kinda bad that I wasn’t here. 
> 
>  
> 
> I want to ask Becca what happened but I also don’t want to know. She is asleep now, anyway, and I should sleep too but I wanted to write first. 
> 
>   
>    
> 
> 
> March 13th, 1929
> 
>  
> 
> Today my parents talked to my teachers and I was really scared. They told them about the fights, which they were very upset about, but they also told them that I am very good at most of my classes. 
> 
>  
> 
> Steve also got in trouble, for the fights. His grades aren’t as good as mine but still enough to make the teachers forgive him. They are easier on him than they are on me, I think they pity him because he’s small and his dad died. 
> 
>  
> 
> Also, I took alot of Steve’s fights on me so he wouldn’t get in trouble. Sometimes I got detention but the papers we have to write are always so easy, I get to leave early. 
> 
>  
> 
> We wanted to see a movie today, with the money dad gave us, but then we saw this great ice cream shop and we bought giant cones and then we asked people to tell us what the movie was about in case dad asked about it. 
> 
>  
> 
> Steve got stomach aches from the ice cream but he said it was worth it. I had to make him tea and warm his belly. Maybe next time we’ll buy hotdogs instead. 
> 
>   
>    
> 

(no date, the handwriting is messy and smudged)

 

> I am so scared!! 
> 
> Dad is shouting again and mum screamed and Becca is crying and I am hiding under the table in our room and I hope he won’t find me. 
> 
> His eyes are all wrong. 
> 
>  
> 
> I don’t know why he’s angry. 
> 
> Did I do something wrong? Did mum? 
> 
>  
> 
> _____
> 
>  
> 
> Becca stopped crying. It’s so quiet. 
> 
> I don’t like silence, either. 
> 
>  
> 
> I wish Steve was here so he could hold me and make things okay again. 
> 
>  

Steve sighed sadly. He had never noticed it as a kid, only later when they got older, the bruises on Bucky’s arms, how his mum covered her arms and neck, the distanced look in his dad’s eyes. It had made him feel so helpless because he knew that was a fight he couldn’t pick. 

 

It made him angry now. If only … 

 

> April 28th, 1929
> 
>  
> 
> I need to learn how to fight! 
> 
> So I can protect Becca, who is just a child and a girl, and Steve, who always starts fights but he’s sick and skinny and my friend.
> 
> Mum says fighting is bad. But I know Uncle Jerry knows how to fight. He used to go boxing and lose his teeth and get black eyes.
> 
>  
> 
> When I know how to fight, I can make other people lose teeth and get black eyes and they will never hurt my friends or my sister or my mum or me. 
> 
> Tomorrow, Steve has lots of health check-ups, so he can’t play. I will visit my uncle Jerry and ask him to teach me. 
> 
>  
> 
> Dad has been better though. Work has been good, he says, so he doesn’t drink as much. He even brought us candy one time.
> 
> I shared mine with Steve because I know his ma can’t afford candy and he really likes it.
> 
>   
>    
> 

The memory brought the taste of artificial cherry to his tongue. 

Steve remembered how Bucky used to bring him candy, fruit, toys, new paper and paints, whenever his Dad had a good week at work. Steve had always wanted to share something with Bucky in turn, but he never owned many things to begin with. Instead, he gave him paintings and wrote stories for him and picked fights with the boys who called his father bad things. 

 

He gently ran his fingers over the small sketches and paintings that were tugged between the pages. He hadn’t known Bucky actually kept them. 

 

> August 28th, 1929
> 
>  
> 
> Training with uncle Jerry has been hard. He doesn’t care that I am much smaller than him. I always end up bloody and bruised. But that’s how I learn. Yesterday I actually managed to punch his nose enough to make it bleed. I felt really sorry afterwards but he said he was very proud. 
> 
>  
> 
> This week wasn’t a good week at work. 
> 
> I spent alot of time at Steve’s and I felt bad because Becca and the twins don’t have a Steve to hide at and neither does mum. 
> 
> I cried but that was okay because Steve didn’t judge me. 
> 
> He slept on the floor with me one night, when I was too scared to go home, even though he’s so skinny and it hurt him but he said seeing me sad hurt him even more. 
> 
>  
> 
> Sometimes we talk about running away. If he weren’t sick and I didn’t have siblings, we’d do it. 
> 
> We could go to the beach and live in a hut and Steve could paint and I could find another job. 
> 
> We made up alot of stories about the places we could go and the adventure we could have. 
> 
>  
> 
> People don’t always get why I am friends with him. Because he’s weird and he’s skinny and he can’t play alot or he’ll have trouble breathing. But people are stupid. They don’t know that Steve is very nice to me and he never says mean things about my dad or makes fun of me when I cry.
> 
>  
> 
> I wanna be his best friend forever. 
> 
>  

_ ‘Til the end of the line, pal. _ Steve thought. His throat ached from crying. 

The super soldier curled up and kept reading, page after page of innocent childish adventures, until his eyes were too heavy and he fell asleep, drifting off into his memories of another life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was really surprised how many people left kudos before the first complete Chapter was even up!  
> I hope you still like it and that I can do these characters justice. 
> 
> Bucky has twin siblings because I read that in another fic and liked the idea. The movies just mention him having three siblings at general.  
> The way he writes his diary (or journal, I guess) will change as he gets older, I am trying to imitate the way I wrote mine when I was at that age.
> 
> I'm not sure if it was ever mentioned in Canon that Buck's dad was alcoholic/abusive, but it seems to be popular in fanfictions and I think it gives him a nice background for the way he reacts to violence.


	3. 02 - escape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where would a man so ancient and yet so old, out of his time, ever find anyone who could even begin to understand?

“Captain. Captain!” An impatient voice sounded from the intercom. “Rogers!”

 

Steve stirred on the apartment floor, blinking against the bright sunlight. His head felt heavy, his throat was dry and his eyes were sticky. His limbs hurt from the uncomfortable position he’d slept in, knees pulled up to the chest, head hidden under his arms.

It reminded him of the many mornings he’d woken up from feverish dreams when he was little. Only back then he … 

 

“Buck … “ He whispered, the name tore through his chest like a bomb.

The papers and books were still spread out on the ground like a bizarre gallery of broken memories. 

 

Walls. Build your walls. Be a soldier. 

He scooped up the contents of the box of memories and gently placed them back. 

Closed the lid.

Pushed it far under the couch.

And his emotions with it. Hopefully.

 

Breathing hard, Steve got on his feet and answered the call.

“Yeah sorry, I’m here.” His voice sounded rough, like he’d swallowed sandpaper.

“Fury’s waiting for you.” The voice at the intercom said. “It’s urgent.” 

It always was. 

 

___________________

 

It was a long couple of weeks. So much violence and death, cold sleepless nights and painfully long days. 

Sometimes Natasha was there, sometimes there were Agents of SHIELD, and sometimes Steve was alone. 

He didn’t tell anyone about the letters and drawings and the journal. Something inside of him really wanted to, needed to talk to someone, to stop feeling so lost and alone, but he didn’t know how. No one else knew Bucky. No one else missed hm.

 

So, he kept himself in the box, hidden under a couch, locked away. But sometimes when it got too quiet, the memories started spilling out and the ache in his chest grew stronger. 

Steve dreamt of them, without structure or sense, just a chaos of thoughts that haunted him relentlessly. Schoolyard fights, sharing candy, sneaking into movies, coughing blood, going to a fair. It always ended the same way; Bucky falling and falling, screaming and screaming and Steve couldn’t move, just watch and stare, his throat too tight to even yell.

 

As he finally returned to his apartment, he almost threw the box out.

Almost tossed it in the trash. Almost burned it.

But then he felt the emptiness in his chest again. The memories hurt but at least he felt. At least he remembered. He lost his friend once, he wasn’t gonna lose him again by forgetting.

 

This time, he only took out the book, carefully skipping through the pages, the stories from early school years, stories of silly quarrels on the school yard and more nights of sick little Steve making Bucky worry. 

 

> October 10th, 1930
> 
>  
> 
> Yesterday Steve stayed over at my place. My parents weren’t home, so we got to stay up super late. We found a way to climb to the roof, over the fire escape and the pipes. 
> 
> You can see the whole city from up there.
> 
> There are lights everywhere, always something moving. 
> 
>  
> 
> I asked Steve if he’s ever been in love. Because alot of kids our age are in love now and I’m wondering what it’s like. 
> 
> Steve didn’t know either. He said girls wouldn’t like him anyway, because he’d not strong like a boy is supposed to be. 
> 
>  
> 
> I told him girls are stupid because there’s more important things than being strong. He said not to say mean things about girls because that’s not what a gentleman does. 
> 
>  
> 
> And if I want to be in love and have a girl be in love with me, I have to be a gentleman. 
> 
> Steve knows alot about that, he read about it in his books, so he told me.
> 
>  
> 
> I asked him if he wanted to be married someday and he said he might not get old enough to ever marry, because he’s sick. That made me very sad. I don’t want to get married if Steve can’t get married as well.
> 
> He asked if I wanted to marry and have children and an apartment. 
> 
> I do. But I would be different. When I am married and I have children, I don’t want them to be afraid. I don’t want to have “the boys” in a bar and I don’t want to get drunk and I will never hit a child or a woman. 
> 
>  
> 
> We talked alot about what our future might be. It was very special because now Steve knows he has to have a future. 
> 
> When it got too cold to stay outside, we went back into the apartment and we put together the couch cushions and whispered stories to each other until we fell asleep. 
> 
>  
> 
> I hope someday a girl will like Steve like I do, and she will fall in love with him and marry him, because he really deserves that.

 

Steve remembered that conversation. It was shortly before Bucky started flirting with every girl he saw. When they got older, he dated a new girl every week. Always trying to find out what it was like, falling in love. 

Steve had asked him what it was like, when Bucky had his first girlfriend and he had shrugged and said he wasn’t sure this was it. 

 

He wondered if he had ever found out.

 

> January 1st, 1931
> 
>  
> 
> New Year’s was fun. I got to spend it at Steve’s and his mum let us taste her wine. We thought it was a cool, adult thing to do but it tasted horrible. Adults are weird. 
> 
>  
> 
> We went out on the street because there was a radio playing music and I tried to teach Steve how to dance (even though I don’t know how to dance either). 
> 
> He asked me if I had any wish for the new year and I wanted to say that he should be healthy again but that would be sad, so I told him I wanted to read more books, I already know most of mine by heart.
> 
>  
> 
> Steve said he wished his mum would go out more, meet some friends and dance, because she was so sad and lonely all the time. 
> 
>  
> 
> So I asked Mrs Rogers to dance with me and she smiled and she taught me some actual dance steps which I then practised with Steve. 
> 
>  
> 
> When the fireworks started at midnight, someone said you need to kiss for good luck, so Steve gave his mum a kiss and I kissed a girl who lives in the same building and we also danced.
> 
>  
> 
> I thought kissing would be more fun. Maybe I just didn’t do it right. I should find more girls to kiss so I can find out. 
> 
>  
> 
> Anyway, I slept next to Steve again and we told each other stories about what the new year could be like and now it is the new year and I hope it will all get a little better.
> 
>  
> 
> It’s weird that people think that, though. Why would things change because the number on the calendar is different? 
> 
> Does the universe care about numbers? 
> 
> I just hope Steve’s mum will smile more and dance more and that my ma will smile more as well. Maybe dad will have more good weeks at work and Becca will stop being afraid of him.
> 
>  
> 
> Maybe it will be a good year.

 

_________

  
  


> March 4th, 1931
> 
>  
> 
> Steve and I went to a funfair outside town today! 
> 
> It was amazing, there were so many rides, roller coasters so tall they almost met the clouds, carousels with blinking lights and a ferris wheel the size of a house! 
> 
>  
> 
> We didn’t go on any rides though, dad gave us some money and we bought some hot dogs because ma will never eat me any and then our money was all used up and we had to ride a freezer truck back home.
> 
>  
> 
> I might also have spent it trying to win a stuffed bear for Dot, who is a girl I met there, with crazy red hair and freckles, and she kissed me for it. 
> 
>  
> 
> Steve was a bit mad. But the ride home turned out to be pretty fun, actually, it felt free and forbidden and adventurous. 
> 
> I wished we could just keep going. Stay on that truck past the city, just seeing the world and forgetting everything else.
> 
>  
> 
> Maybe one day when I’m older, I’ll get my own truck and I’ll take Steve and we will just keep driving.
> 
>   
>    
> 

There was a gap between the dates, where Steve knew Bucky hadn’t had time to write, when his dad had gotten into a fight in a bar and got arrested and Bucky had to work twice as much to keep his family fed. 

 

Steve had tried his best not to be a burden, to stay very healthy and very strong and he kept coming up with excuses to not spend time with Bucky, which had made him sad and lonely, but he had decided the Barnes family needed him more. 

 

The next entry was written in a much more elegant handwriting and Steve imagined fifteen year old Bucky with the first shadow of a beard on his jawline and a stolen cigarette in his mouth finding the old journal, probably sneaking off to the roof to write.

Thats where they had gone more and more often as they got older. It felt forbidden and free, on top of the world, far away from their worries. Sometimes Bucky would steal a cigar or a bottle of beer and they’d share it, pretending to be much cooler than they actually were. 

 

Steve had wondered if Bucky had ever taken someone else up to the roof. One of his many girlfriends. Somehow that thought had always bugged him, it was their spot, their refuge, like a castle in the sky.

 

The Bucky in his head was by himself, letting the past months sink in into his mind and flow out onto the paper.

  
  


> July 8th, 1932
> 
>  
> 
> Man, I haven’t written in here for ages! 
> 
> It’s been alot, I guess, not really any time to sit down and relive ever shitty day on paper. 
> 
> Well, it wasn’t all bad. But it was rough.
> 
>  
> 
> Dad’s gotten out of jail. He promised he’d be better this time. I’m not sure I believe him. He has no right to come back, really. He chose the bar and the alcohol. I took care of this family. He didn’t.
> 
>  
> 
> I worked double shifts and I studied hard, so I could be on top of the class so I will get a proper job after school. 
> 
> I learned how to fight, really professionally fight, and I won some money in contests. 
> 
>  
> 
> The kids at school stopped picking on Steve all the time because they saw me win these prices and they know whoever picks a fight with the little guy also picks a fight with me. 
> 
>  
> 
> If only Steve would stop being the one to start it… 
> 
> His asthma has gotten worse.
> 
> His ma can’t afford new meds and I have been so busy trying to care for my own family, I couldn’t get him enough. 
> 
> I tried, I really did, and I feel bad because Steve is my family too. 
> 
>  
> 
> The championship is coming up and the price money is pretty high, so I will practise hard to get it. 
> 
> It could get Steve a lot of medication, for his asthma and his fever and against the pain in his limbs. 
> 
>  
> 
> He’s tried to push me away but I never let him. I think he feels guilty, like he’s burdening me but he doesn’t know how much I need him. 
> 
> Whenever things got too much, we could just escape. Hide away on the rooftop or in the park or at the movies. He never asked questions or judged me. Never told me my dad was right or wrong, I worked too much or too little, never pitied me or questioned me, like everyone else did. 
> 
>  
> 
> Being with Steve is just being a little kid again, in our own small world, far away from all worries. 
> 
> No one could ever replace him, so I’m doing what I can to keep him. 
> 
>  
> 
> My girlfriend is nice too, her name is Chloe and she’s really nice. But even though she never said anything, I still see the look on her face, hear the tone in her voice, the pity and sadness. She looks at me like a broken toy that she has to fix and she touches me like a scared kitten on the streets. 
> 
>  
> 
> We won’t last much longer. It always makes me sad, having to break up. I don’t know why I keep trying. Steve asked me if I was in love and why I fell out of it so easily. The truth is that I just don’t know. I truly cared about all these girls but … I feel like there should be more. Like it should feel like something. And I might just have to keep looking.
> 
>   
>    
> 
> 
> August 7th, 1932
> 
>  
> 
> I’ve decided to help Steve with his social life. He’s almost pathetic sometimes. I can’t spend every waking hour with him, letting him follow me around like a puppy. 
> 
> So, he needs friends. Or a girlfriend. That would do him good, probably, a girl to fuss over him.
> 
>  
> 
> It’s not that I mind, I like Steve, and caring for him has never bothered me, it’s just time he gets out and lives a little! 
> 
>  
> 
> There’s a girl who I’ve had my eye on for a while, Cassandra, and she has a cute little friend called Conny who has a weird nose but she’ll be enough for Stevie. 
> 
>  
> 
> Now we just have to make her like him. 
> 
> Steve is very likeable, I think, once you get past the nervous stutter, the thin twig-like limbs and the general awkward steve-ness. 
> 
>  
> 
> I tried to teach him how to dance, something to impress her with. It was a mess, he is all tangled limbs and mumbled excuses, stepping on my feet and staring at the floor.
> 
>  
> 
> We played Ma’s records and I taught him how to hold my waist and my shoulder, which was hard for him because I am much taller than him now. 
> 
> It felt like being kids again, sort of. 
> 
>  
> 
> I told him to hold eye contact, thats much more important than whatever is happening with the feet anyway.
> 
> Steve has such kind eyes. 
> 
> What girl wouldn’t fall in love with him?
> 
>   
>    
> 
> 
> August 12th, 1932
> 
>  
> 
> I tried, I really did. 
> 
> It’s like Steve is invisible. 
> 
> Conny ignored him most of the times. I convinced her to dance with him but he got all nervous and they barely made it to the dance floor. 
> 
>  
> 
> Poor guy looked so sad, I send both girls home and took him out for a drink instead. 
> 
> I’ll talk to Cassandra later, maybe give her flowers, she’ll forgive me. 
> 
> Steve felt really bad that I left my date. But I said he was better company anyway. 
> 
> I would’ve danced with him. If there hadnt been people watching.
> 
> It made him smile, at least.

 

Steve didn’t recall that evening in particular, but there had been multiple double-dates in which Bucky ended up with both girls. At first, he had sent them away or tried to, until Steve insisted that it wasn’t a big deal and he became the one to leave. 

 

He’d never blamed Bucky. He couldn’t help being handsome and charming and he’d done so much for Steve, it felt selfish to take this from him.

 

But all that didn’t stop it from hurting. Not that he’d cared much about the girls. They’d been pretty but total strangers in the end, their opinion had hardly mattered. It was the overall situation, he’d been sick of being sick and lonely and unwanted. Had craved to be more than the friend of Bucky Barnes. Curious, too, if it would be different, falling asleep with his arms around a girl, instead of being the one curled up against Bucky’s chest.

 

Steve shook his head at the memory now. He wished his life was still this ridiculously simple, where girls and boys and dates where the biggest worries on their minds. 

Though… Was it really that simple? Had things really changed that much?

Here he was, after all, a dusty notebook more threatening and painful than any gunfight could ever be. 

 

Wishing he had … just someone.

And realizing it was impossible. 

Where would a man so ancient and yet so old, out of his time, ever find anyone who could even begin to understand? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bucky probably wrote alot more than this, but him being a Teenager, it would all be quite trivial and repetetive and I didn't feel like writing pages upon pages of boring every-day scenarios ;) 
> 
> So, Steve probably spent a few more hours recalling visits to the movies, hanging out in the park, talking about girls and that kinda thing.


	4. 03 - innocence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky questions his actions, Steve tries to open up, we all need a hug

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for Domestic Violence

> August 24th, 1932
> 
>  
> 
> I’m at the hospital. 
> 
> Stevie’s sick again … I mean, sicker than usual. 
> 
> He just … collapsed. And I screamed and I held him and he didn’t wake up. 
> 
>  
> 
> I was so scared. 
> 
> I hope I can see him soon.
> 
> I just wanna hold him and stroke his hair and tell him everything will be alright. 
> 
> Everytime he gets sick like this, it feels like I’m dying. 
> 
>  
> 
> My life would be so empty without him.
> 
> He makes me laugh and he listens to me and he reminds me to be a better person. 
> 
> I don’t know anyone who is as kind and honest as Steve. 
> 
> Please, please don’t let him die. 
> 
>  
> 
> ___________
> 
>  
> 
> Oh god, I just read what I wrote yesterday and I almost tore out the page and burned it.
> 
> Sometimes I embarrass myself in front of myself.
> 
> The way I talk sometimes you’d think I was insane.
> 
>  
> 
> Steve is fine. Of course he is. 
> 
> He’s indestructable because he’s an idiot and stupid makes immortal, apparently.
> 
> The stopped coughing blood, his fever went down and the color returned to his skin. His mum was watching him all night, until I finally convinced her to get some sleep. She knows I’ll watch Steve just as closely as she would. 
> 
>  
> 
> He woke up a few times, asked for his sketchbook to draw, fell asleep again, then woke up to continue drawing. 
> 
> I asked what he was drawing and he said he was drawing everything that was good and happy so he’d forget the pain and the fear. He showed me, sketches of heroes in capes, of flowers and dogs and children playing. And of the two of us.
> 
>  
> 
> We were just joking around, calling each other names, being silly. Like nothing ever happened. Like we always do. 
> 
>  
> 
> I wish I could tell him. Sometimes I just wanna hold him and tell him how much he means to me. But what good would that be?

 

_ Oh Bucky … _ Steve thought. 

He’d known, of course, that Buck cared more than he let on. The teasing and joking and grinning, it was their way of showing it. 

But the thought of hearing him say it, just once, made him shiver. 

 

Steve wished he’d said it, back when he pulled Bucky out of the HYDRA factory. 

_ I thought you were dead. I’m glad you’re not. I care about you. _

Why was that so hard? Had Bucky known what he’d meant to him?

 

So much about their friendship had seemed so obvious and easy, there was never a reason to make great speeches. But in retrospect, Steve doubted alot. He knew he was just twisting his own memory, out of desperate grief. And yet … 

 

Just three word, most simple and meaningful, and yet he’d never managed to get his shit together and say them. Was that just a guy thing? Or a Steve - Bucky thing?

 

He leaned his head back and closed his eyes, trying hard to remember the feeling of being held close, the warmth and the smell, hearing another heartbeat fall in sync with his own. When was the last time he’d even let anyone touch him?

 

All he’d known since he woke up from the ice was battle. Bruises and cuts and bullet holes. 

His body was a weapon and a means of transportation, nothing more. 

Steve hugged the journal close to his chest. The leather at least felt kinda warm against his skin. 

 

_ Pathetic. I’m pathetic. Look at me, the great Captain America, hugging a book, whining about how lonely he is.  _

 

_______________

 

Their next operation was in Germany.

Natasha had come with him, though he wasn’t sure if she had the same orders he had. She was sneaking off at night, disappearing in the middle of a mission and seemed overall distracted.

 

Normally, Steve wouldn’t have cared. They had a target and they took care of it. He followed orders without question and when there weren’t any, he just waited.

But ever since he’d started reading Bucky’s journal, he found it harder to keep the walls up. 

And sometimes there was a small part of him that had wished him and Nat could actually be friends. 

 

It was in the middle of the night, in a cheap hotel in Berlin, when Natasha came back from one of her midnight strolls to find Steve on the balcony, reading. 

He looked more relaxed than he usually did. Almost happy.

 

“You’re back early.” He said softly, closing the book without turning around.

Natasha approached carefully. “I didn’t know you could read.” She said, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed. “Books, I mean.” She added. “They take so much patience.” 

Steve shrugged “I was frozen for 70 years, I got alot of patience.”

 

He hesitated. 

He’d read about their summer trip to the lake, where Bucky and Steve had played pirates and tried to fish. He’d been feeling better then, almost healthy, and it had been a great relief for both the boys and their parents.

 

It had left Steve feeling warm and hopeful and he didn’t want to lose that feeling. He wanted to talk to someone, to tell them about their amazing friendship, to relive the memories again and again. 

 

But at the same time, it would mean opening up. And he never knew what would happen if he let the walls down. If he showed that part of his past, what else would he find?

 

Nat watched the tension return to the soldier’s body, his head shaking subconsciously. Carefully, she reached out, placing her hand on Seve’s shoulder. 

“Everything okay?”

 

The touch surprised him.

It was warm and gentle and Natasha’s voice was kind.

 

Steve turned around, his expression softer and more vulnerable than she’d ever seen him be. “Not a book.” He whispered. “Journal.”

He stroked the cover softly. Nat elegantly slid through the door, sitting down next to Steve, her expression open and curious.

 

“When I was -” He searched for the words. “Before. In another life. I had a friend, my best friend. Bucky.” Steve realized Nat probably knew about that, read the files or just googled. He continued anyway. “We were inseparable. He was always there for me, no matter how sick I got, no matter how hard his own life got… I could always count on Bucky.” He drew a shaky breath, tears stinging in his eyes.

“But when he needed me - I let him down.” He closed his eyes, his hands instinctively clawing at his chest, where the pain hit him. 

 

“What happened?” Nat asked even though she’d probably read about that, too.

 

“We were… on a mission. Things went wrong. He - he fell and I … I just watched. He disappeared into the depth and something inside me just. … broke.” He felt the tears on his cheek, burning on his skin. He’d have felt embarrassed but nothing about Natasha seemed judgemental. She was just listening, patiently.

 

“I should’ve gone back. Looked for him. But I couldn’t.” His hands dropped into his lap. 

“They never found his body.” His voice was thin and cracking. “I’m sure his family held a ceremony. Buried an empty coffin. I never contacted them again. never - … I never even got to say goodbye to him.” He bit his lip, exhaling sharply. “He followed me, trusted me, and I just left him and moved on.”

 

Natasha watched him thoughtfully. 

He waited, expected her to tell him it wasn’t his fault and everyone knew what they were getting into.

She didn’t.

Instead, she pulled her legs up and leaned back, smiling warmly.

 

“Tell me about him.” She said. “When you were kids. That journal-” She nodded to the book. “you like reading it. What does it say?” 

 

Steve smiled weakly. “Just silly stories, so far. Playing pirates and stealing cigarettes. Hopes and dreams.”

 

“Were your families close?” Natasha asked. 

Steve shrugged. 

 

“I don’t think my mum liked his dad, so our families didn’t interact much. But his mum and his siblings always welcomed me. After my mum died they barely ever left me alone. Dragged me to every birthday and wedding and other family event.” Steve smiled, his shoulders relaxing a bit, staring into the distance, his eyes moving quickly as memories played out before them.

 

“You were like brothers?” 

 

“Yes … and no. I don’t know. Family feels different. Like you have to love them. Bucky … loving him was easy.” 

_ Being with him was as easy as breathing.  _ Steve thought. 

 

He closed his eyes and kept talking.

It was like Natasha had opened a door he’d kept locked for a very long time.

He told her about Bucky’s stories, how Steve had painted them, how they reenacted them in the park. Told her about the rooftop and the cigarettes, about picking fights with bullies, always being either rescued or at least patched-up by Bucky. 

 

Steve talked about Bucky’s dad and the fighting, the boxing championships, the medication.

How Bucky had stayed with him when he was sick, holding him and soothing him,  it was important that Natasha knew just how kind and generous his friend had been, because no one else did.

 

And she listened. Asked questions. Smiled. 

For the first time since the train, all those years ago, Steve didn’t feel so alone anymore.

 

______________

 

> September 3rd, 1934
> 
>  
> 
> Dad got drunk again. I knew people couldn’t change like that. He’s been out with his guys a few times since he got back from prison, but he usually stayed with them until morning. 
> 
> Last night he got into a fight, not a big one like last time, but enough to get him kicked out of the bar and sent home. 
> 
>  
> 
> Why did they send him home?
> 
> Don’t they think?
> 
> Don’t they know?
> 
>  
> 
> The little ones ran and hid in their rooms. 
> 
> Ma told me to go, stay with them, don’t come out.
> 
> But I couldn’t. Not now, not this time. 
> 
>  
> 
> He slammed the door shut and yelled and he stank of beer and piss.
> 
> Ma flinched and avoided his face and tried to get him to just sleep. But he wasn’t sleepy. He was mad.
> 
>  
> 
> I stood in the doorway, watching him closely. 
> 
> I was scared but I haven’t trained this hard for nothing. 
> 
> No one would ever lay hand on my family again.
> 
>  
> 
> But he did.
> 
> He grabbed her and said disgusting things, his hands left red marks on her arms.
> 
> I shouted at him. Told him to stop.
> 
> Mum told me not to say anything, to just leave.
> 
>  
> 
> Dad yelled.
> 
> And I saw the veins pumping at his throat.
> 
> And I saw the terror in my mother’s eyes.
> 
> Heard the children cry in the other room.
> 
>  
> 
> I was so … angry.
> 
> It wasn’t like the times I was mad at a schoolyard bully or annoyed by some guy on the street calling after a girl he didn’t know.
> 
> It was burning rage. 
> 
> I hated him so much in that moment.
> 
>  
> 
> So I punched him. Told him to leave. That he’d never hurt anyone in this house or I would make sure it was the last thing he’d do. 
> 
> I thought he’d fight back, protest, yell at me.
> 
> But he flinched and he ran. Well, he tried, it was more a helpless stumbling. But he left.
> 
>  
> 
> No one else said anything. 
> 
> I just went out on the roof and stayed there until everyone else was asleep.
> 
>  
> 
> I scared myself. 
> 
> I don’t want to be like him. 
> 
> But sometimes, I think, there’s no other way.
> 
> For some people, violence is the only language they speak.
> 
>   
>    
> 
> 
> September 4th, 1934
> 
>  
> 
> Dad came back and no one said anything. 
> 
> Everyone is tense and quiet. 
> 
> It’s choking me.
> 
>  
> 
> I took the kids out to the park, played with them in the yard, anything to get them away from that deafening silence. 
> 
> When they play, they seem to forget everything else. Just get lost in their own stories. Like Steve and I used to. I envy them.
> 
> I really wanted to go to Steve’s house.
> 
> Just hide there, tell him about what happened. I know he’d understand. He’d hold me and tell him that I’m not like my dad. Because Steve is good and he thinks I am good, too. 
> 
>  
> 
> He doesn’t know the thoughts I have sometimes.
> 
> The anger. 
> 
> He doesn’t know how much I want to hurt people, the people who pick on Steve when they think I’m not around, who call after the girls on the street, who steal kids’ lunch and throw rocks at them when they run away.
> 
>  
> 
> Steve can’t know. 
> 
> He can’t see this side of me. 
> 
> I want to be his hero. 
> 
> Not the monster I sometimes see in myself.

  
  


_ Bucky, no… _ Steve thought. He’d known that things were bad. Even after prison. He’d seen the gloomy looks on everyone’s faces, noticed the way they moved around the house when Mr Barnes was around. But Bucky had never told him he’d stood up to him.

 

He’d been afraid to tell him, afraid to lose the admiration, the way Steve had worshipped him. But Bucky was right, Steve would’ve told him it wasnt true, that he was good and kind. 

There was no way he could ever be a monster, not to him. 

 

___________________

>   
>    
> 
> 
> October 17th, 1934
> 
>  
> 
> I did it! I can now proudly call myself YMCA boxing champion! Thank you Uncle Jerry and school yard bullies! 
> 
> They did break my nose but once it heals it will make me look tougher, so it’s not too bad. 
> 
>  
> 
> There was a girl watching the final fight, she cheered the loudest out of all of them, and afterwards when I was showing around the trophy, she gave me a note.
> 
>  
> 
> I’ll meet up with her tonight. I don’t even know her name but she was beautiful and mysterious and with all the practise, I barely had time for dating, so it would be nice to go out again. 
> 
>  
> 
> Haven’t seen Steve in a while either, I’ll have to get over to his place tomorrow, show him the trophy. 
> 
> I might tell him about the girl, too, but it seems rude since I don’t think he’s ever more than shyly grinned at a girl.
> 
> Jesus, there has to be a way to get that guy a date! 
> 
>  
> 
> Well, I’ll get dressed now and see what that note was all about! 
> 
>  
> 
> ________
> 
>  
> 
> Wow, what a night! 
> 
> I went to see the girl, she was waiting for me in the park.
> 
> Her name is Traci and she said she’s been watching my fights. She said she liked the look of me. I took her out to a nice dinner - well as nice as I can afford, anyway - and tried to get to know her better.
> 
>  
> 
> That was all I had in mind, I swear.
> 
> And I did, we talked alot, she told me about her family and her dog and school. Traci has two younger sisters and an older brother, she likes science and would like to go to a uni and study biology or something like that.
> 
>  
> 
> It sounded like her family is quite wealthy, at least for my standards. I always thought having money must make people so much happier. Not having to worry if you can eat the next week. Not having to be scared everytime you hear a cough because you know medicine is precious and expensive. 
> 
>  
> 
> And yet, Traci seemed … sad. Lost. Watching men fight in the ring, beating each other bloody in an attempt for glory or escape or in my case, price money. 
> 
> She smokes and drinks and hangs out with sketchy people.
> 
>  
> 
> She said her parents don’t want her to go uni. She’s supposed to get married and give them grandchildren and be a good housewife. 
> 
> Like nothing she’ll so would ever be enough for her parents. 
> 
>  
> 
> Kinda made me realize wealth is worth nothing if you’re surrounded by the wrong people. 
> 
>  
> 
> Anyway, we talked and drank until my head started swimming slightly and next thing I know, she’s dragging me into some hotel room, kissing me, laughing and giggling.
> 
>  
> 
> She tasted like beer and cigarettes. 
> 
> Kissing Traci was different from the other girls. 
> 
> It was the first time I actually felt like I wanted it, her touch made me shiver and I just wanted her. 
> 
>  
> 
> She was the first one to get undressed. 
> 
> I asked if she was sure and she said yes and she kissed me and touched me and it felt good. 
> 
> I’ve imagined it many times, wondered what it would feel like, but I could never have imagined - 

 

Steve blushed and tore his gaze from the book. 

 

He knew what had happened that night. Bucky had told him the day after, in embarrassing detail, glowing with pride. He had really cared about Traci, Steve suspected it was the brokenness of the girl that had fascinated his friend so much. They never dated, only hooked up a few times before her dad found out and sent her to live with her grandparents and visit a girls-only school, to “learn how to be a decent woman”.

 

Buck had talked about her a few more times after that, fondly remembering “his first”. 

The last time Steve could remember hearing the name, and another detailed review of said first night, was when Steve had told him about Peggy Carter and he had tried giving him adivce.

Bucky would probably laugh at him now, if he knew that even now, post-serum, famous and old, Steve still had not gone further than kissing. It had just never felt right.

 

He skipped through the next pages, that were filled mostly with details of Bucky’s nights and afternoons and mornings with Traci. 

There were times of Bucky’s life he didn’t need to be reminded of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am really bad with timelines, so I apologize if there are things that don't line up with the MCU ~


	5. 04 - lost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve’s heart grew heavy as the dates moved on, knowing what was coming.

> October 23rd, 1934
> 
>  
> 
> I took Steve to the amusement park today.
> 
> There was some money left over from the contest and Steve’s health has been good. We got hot dogs, like back when we were kids, and watched the people passing by, making up stories about them. Steve is really good at that game, I think he reads too much. It was so good to see him that happy, healthy (for his standards anyway) and full of energy.
> 
>  
> 
> Somehow I managed to get Stevie into the Cyclone, which was really fun, until we saw those hot dogs again. I felt bad for him, so I gave him my shirt (his was covered in vomit) and promised he can pick the next film we go to see. 
> 
>  
> 
> Steve felt kinda weak the rest of the night, so I brought him home and read stories to him. 
> 
> He said he felt sorry for ruining the evening but I said it was alright, because of course it is.
> 
>  
> 
> I apologized for the Cyclone thing but he told me not to feel sorry because he had fun and really enjoyed the day.
> 
>  
> 
> He fell asleep holding my hand. Is it weird how much I like holding it? His fingers are so thin and elegant. Everything about him is small and fragile and I want to protect him and just hold him. 
> 
>  
> 
> It’s okay though, right?
> 
> He’s my friend after all.
> 
> I want him to be happy. I care so much, it almost hurts.

  
  


_ ‘Remember the time I made you ride the Cyclone on Coney Island’ _ a voice in Steve’s head said. It was followed by an agonizing scream. He knew it would haunt him all night. 

If only he’d said something.

How much he’d enjoyed that night. 

How happy Bucky had been, free from his worries, at least for a while. No money or sickness or fathers, just him getting all excited about a ride at a park. 

 

It kept coming back to him.

If only.

If only … so many things.

 

_______________

 

it felt like the world was crashing down around him

his chest felt tight and it ached, breathing hurt, it was so hard

to just

breathe

 

his skin felt tense and all wrong and he scratched at it, desperate to make the feeling stop, that pain, that terrible pain that burned under the skin

 

his heart was all wrong

it beat unsteady and it hurt hurt hurt 

 

he gasped, tried to breathe, snapping for air

the edges of his vision where dark and blurred

 

everything was shaking and his skin was all numb and wrong and he clawed at his chest

just make it stop

 

he heard a voice

natasha?

 

something touched his shoulder

he felt the warmth on his skin

pressure on his tense muscles

 

something sharp in his palm

not painful but he could feel it

he grabbed the sharp things and let them dig into his skin

 

_______________

 

“You better?” Natasha said gently, her palm gently resting on Steve’s shoulder.

He nodded, breathing slowly, drawing quivering breath. 

Blinking against the suddenly blinding light, he tried to regain his orientation. 

He was in his hotel room in Berlin, curled up on the ground next to his bed, sheets and pillows a tangled mess around him. 

“Maybe reading that journal isnt too good for you.” Nat said softly. “You screamed his name.”

 

Steve pushed the sheets of him, shaking his head. “No, I … I’ve put this off for too long. It’s time that I deal with it. No matter how bad it is.” He unclenched his hands, dropping two spiky metal balls to the ground. They had left small indentations in his palms but not drawn blood. Natasha picked them up and pocketed them. “I always carry these with me. Helps me to regain focus when I panic.” 

 

“You … This happens to you, too?” Steve asked and immediately regretted it. Of course someone who’d spent all her life in torture and war didn’t get away without scars. 

Natasha nodded. “Not as much as it used to. It’s been better since I started working with you.” Her eyes were warm and open and honest. She had that kind of unapologetic confidence, like she owned every part of who she was and what she felt, so no one could ever turn that against her. “I like being with you, Steve. You’re a good guy. You’re … safe.” 

 

Steve blinked at her, slightly lost, still shaken. 

She touched his cheek slightly and got up. “I’ll be in the kitchen if you need anything.” 

 

_______________

 

> November 27th, 1934
> 
>  
> 
> Christmas is coming up. 
> 
> I want to do something special, something unforgettable.
> 
> I saved my money from work the past few weeks and there’s still time to do even more. 
> 
>  
> 
> Got no girl at the moment, so even more money left to spend on meds for Steve. I think I’ll get him a nice suit, though, that he can wear out. Girls like that kinda thing. 
> 
>  
> 
> For Becca I want to find a nice dress, too, she loves to make herself look pretty. 
> 
> The twins will get some new toys that they’ll destroy within minutes anyway.
> 
>  
> 
> For Ma, I want something really special … I was thinking about a necklace or a ring but that’s so normal and boring and she deserves more than that. She’s been so strong. 
> 
>  
> 
> Thing have been better since the night I punched Dad in the face. He’s been distanced and quiet but at least he hasn’t touched her or any of us. He’s just not home alot. 
> 
>  
> 
> I can’t stand the way he looks at me.
> 
> It’s not fear or anger, just … sadness. 
> 
> I wonder if he realized what he’s done. What he forced me to become. What he’s done to this family. 
> 
>  
> 
> I won’t be getting him anything for christmas. 
> 
>   
>    
> 
> 
> December 26th, 1934
> 
>  
> 
> Christmas was good. 
> 
> Steve looked so handsome in his new suit and he was so proud, marching up and down the small living room. It was so endearing, I could’ve married him on the spot. 
> 
> He gave me a painting for christmas, a poster for my championship victory. 
> 
>  
> 
> We both took my Ma out for dinner while Dad was gone and the kids stayed with Mrs Rogers. 
> 
> It was good to see her smile again, blushing and laughing as we treated her as gentleman-ly as we could.
> 
> She said it was the best christmas present she’d ever gotten.
> 
> That made me kind of sad, actually. 
> 
>  
> 
> I will work extra shifts the next days to get the money back in,but it was worth it. 
> 
>  
> 
> The year is over soon. I stopped believing that will change anything. The calendar might change but people don’t. 
> 
> Steve still believes. 
> 
> Every year he tells me about the many good things that will happen, the plans he has. He’s so naive and pure, but I don’t have the heart to tell him, make him see what life really is like. 
> 
>   
>    
> 

Steve smiled sadly. The more he kept reading, the more he realized how much darker Bucky got, between the lines as well as in what he wrote directly. The violence in his life, the constant fighting, having to take care of everyone around him constantly with no time to take care of himself, it had slowly but steadily drained him. Flirting and dating and messing around, getting into fighting for sports and money. Steve had admired him for it, back then, thought it made Bucky so much cooler than him. 

 

But now, being able to look behind the facade and reflecting on it with a few more years of wisdom and his own experience with violence and war, Steve realized Bucky had just desperately tried to keep moving. To not get lost in his own head. Distracting himself, trying to get away from everything. Just being alive without really living. 

He knew because that’s exactly what he had done every day since Bucky’s death.

 

Maybe that’s why Bucky was so eager to join the war. And why he didn’t want Steve to go. 

 

____________

 

“Do you ever wonder what your life would have been like, if certain things hadn’t happened, if you could have had a normal civilian job and a boring house with a neat lawn and noisy neighbours?”

 

Natasha archer her brows at him. “That journal is really getting to you, huh.” 

Steve shrugged. “Just wondering. If someone else had been Captain America … If things hadn’t gone so wrong and I could’ve just … had a life.” 

He sighed. He’d visited Peggy again and this time, she had barely noticed him at all. Had thought him a member of the staff, told him about her husband and her children and asked him for an early dinner. 

 

“I don’t think I ever had much of a future anyway.” Nat said quietly. “So I’m glad it’s at least come down to this. But I imagine it must be hard for someone who knew a normal life once and then lost it.” She put the gun she was cleaning aside to pat his shoulder sympathetically. 

 

Steve sighed and shook his head. “I’m getting too old for this.” 

 

____________

 

Time went by, one mission to another, then a few weeks without any orders, then back to flying around the globe.

Bucky wrote less as he got older and life got more important. But he still collected memories, pictures and drawings, movie tickets and flyers. 

When he did write, it was usually darker, more sad and worried than the light-hearted adventures of their childhood.

 

The quiet at home, his part-time jobs, worries about his future. 

And yet he always found time to mention his best friend. 

 

Steve’s heart grew heavy as the dates moved on, knowing what was coming. 

 

> October 12th, 1936
> 
>  
> 
> Steve’s mum is really sick. I’ve been visiting them every day now, helping him take care of her. It’s not much different from caring for Steve when he was feeling sick. Cold towels around the calves and on the forehead, lots of tea and soup, reading stories, washing her hair to make her feel more comfortable. Only that Mrs Rogers is even more sick than I’ve ever seen Steve be, and that’s saying something. 
> 
>  
> 
> We all know. 
> 
> Sarah is very kind and she keeps telling us she loves us, that she is grateful and proud to have raised two fine men like us. It’s true, I suppose, that I owe part of my upbringing to her. 
> 
>  
> 
> When Steve wasnt around for a moment, she told me to take care of him when she was gone. She said Steve loved me and looked up to me and that he’d listen to me. We both know he won’t, if he’s determined about something then there’s no changing his mind. But I promised I’d look out for him. 
> 
>  
> 
> Steve tries to be strong. But he’s broken. We all are. 
> 
> I don’t even think about it anymore, when I take him into my arms and he falls asleep against my chest while I watch over his mother, listen to her unsteady breathing.
> 
>  
> 
> He doesn’t deserve this. He’s already lost his dad. 
> 
> All his other family lives really far away and none of them would care enough to want to support a sickly eighteen year old. Steve would be too proud anyway.
> 
>   
>    
> 
> 
> October 15th, 1936
> 
>  
> 
> Sarah lost the battle today.
> 
> She passed away rather peacefully, I suppose, just stopped breathing while she slept. 
> 
> Steve was watching her and I was asleep on his lap. 
> 
> When he noticed she wasn’t breathing, he just gently woke me and we just held each other and cried.
> 
>  
> 
> The doctor confirmed her time of death at 4am.
> 
>  
> 
> I will stay with Steve for a while, help him arrange the funeral.
> 
> He’s trying to be strong but I told him it’s okay to grieve, it’s okay to cry and just be broken sometimes.
> 
> I am too.
> 
>  
> 
> Sometimes I just want to tell him that everything will be okay. 
> 
> That I am there for him.
> 
>  
> 
> I don’t know why I don’t.

 

_ But I knew, Buck, _ Steve thought,  _ I always knew.  _

 

> October 17th, 1936
> 
>  
> 
> We arranged a beautiful ceremony, I think.
> 
> Steve has written a speech, I helped him with it, and we cried alot.
> 
>  
> 
> It will be a small funeral, mostly friends and colleagues of Sarah’s, since there aren’t many people left in Steve’s family. 
> 
>  
> 
> I’m not sure if I should go. 
> 
> I’m not sure if I can.
> 
>  
> 
> _______________
> 
>   
>    
> 
> 
> Fuck. 
> 
> Fuck! 
> 
> Fuck … 
> 
> Shit … 
> 
> Why? 
> 
> Why me? Why now? 
> 
> Why me?? Why him??
> 
>  
> 
> I can’t believe this is happening … 
> 
>  
> 
> It almost scares me to write this down but … I can’t tell anyone. Not ever. But I have to … do something. 
> 
> I hope no one ever finds this book. 
> 
> I should burn it.
> 
> But I won’t.
> 
>  
> 
> Steve … 
> 
>  
> 
> We went to the funeral. Of his mum. And he was so … empty. Like all his lights were out. It hurt to see him like that. 
> 
> He drove home by himself, we didn’t have a chance to give him a ride. So I followed him home later. 
> 
> I asked Steve to stay with us, stay with me, at our place, so he wouldn’t be alone. He refused. 
> 
> He went inside and I followed him and he kept saying he wanted to be alone. 
> 
> I should have listened.
> 
> But he … he was so sad. So broken. I couldn’t just leave him there, it broke my heart.
> 
>  
> 
> So I stayed. 
> 
> And he had wine.
> 
> And we drank. 
> 
> And then … 
> 
>  
> 
> He was crying and he was so small and so sad and I held him in my arms. He was so cold and I warmed him and let him cry into my shoulder. 
> 
> I’ve hugged him before, so many times when he was sick and weak and I wished I could make the pain go away.
> 
>  
> 
> And … I don’t know. 
> 
> I care so much. About him. I wanted to make the pain stop. 
> 
> I wanted him to know that I was there, to let me help. 
> 
> I wasn’t thinking. 
> 
>  
> 
> Steve cried until he was too weak to cry and he said he was glad to have me, that I was all he had. 
> 
> “Buck, you’re all I have now. Never leave me, please.” 
> 
> So I kissed him.
> 
>  
> 
> Fuck.
> 
> Shit.
> 
>  
> 
> I… I kissed my best friend.
> 
>  
> 
> The way I kissed girls but not really because with girls it was all heat and energy and need.
> 
> Kissing Steve … it was warm and familiar and it made my stomach explode. 
> 
> And Steve … kissed me back. All soft and shy. 
> 
>  
> 
> I never wanted it to stop. 
> 
> But he’s a guy and he’s my friend and it’s all wrong. 
> 
> He would be in such danger. 
> 
> Somehow I broke through the drunkenness and the warmth and I just apologized and ran.
> 
>  
> 
> I don’t even really know how I got here.
> 
> I’m just sitting in the park under a gloomy street lamp and I want to disappear.
> 
>  
> 
> How can I ever face Steve again?
> 
> How can I even face myself? 
> 
>  
> 
> This is all wrong … I’m all wrong… 
> 
> But … if it’s so wrong … why did it feel so right?
> 
>  
> 
> I’ve kissed so many girls and it was good and fun.
> 
> But Steve …
> 
> It’s like I’ve been trying to swim upstream all this time and just for a moment, I let the current take me and it was so easy.
> 
>  
> 
> But it can’t be. 
> 
> No one can know.
> 
>  

_ Oh. _

 

Steve stared at the pages, messy and smudged, written in a hurry. 

He tried to remember that night. 

 

Bucky had been there, at the doorstep, asking him to live with him. 

That much he remembered. 

He’d declined, shut the door, cowered with his back against the door, feeling lost.

He remembered the metal screeching and clanging and then the window opened and Bucky climbed in from the fire escape.

 

Steve had rolled his eyes at him and Bucky had taken the wine out of the kitchen, a whole pack of bottles that they’d gotten in preparation for the funeral.

He had felt so lost. 

And Bucky had been there, no matter how many times Steve had tried to push him away.

 

Had they really kissed?

The thought made his chest flutter and skin tingle.

For a moment he imagined sitting on the ground with his best friend, their lips touching carefully, and he wished he could remember what it had felt like. 

 

Steve shook his head violently, dropping the book on the coffee table and jumping to his feet. 

They had been kids, drunk and sad and confused. 

No need to overthink it. 

 

He just … 

Before he could finish his thought, could let himself even go there, he stormed out of the apartment, pushing through the narrow hallway and ran out.

He had no idea where he was going.

 

Maybe it had all been a bad idea.

The damn journal.

What did it matter, anyway.

Reading them wouldn’t make Bucky be alive again. 

Maybe he was better off not remembering. 

Leaving the past where it belonged, in dusty shelves and museums.

 

____________

He didn’t touch the book again.

He buried it deep in his shelf and hoped it would disappear.

 

His day became busy, sports and motorcycles and fast cars.

And finally, he built up his walls again.

 

And still, every now and then Steve couldnt help but sneak back into the museum.

He could stay there for hours, just staring at the pictures and the videos and letting the pain tear him apart while his face remained still. 

 

“Why do you keep going there?” Nat had asked him one day. “It’s not like you’re gonna learn anything new about yourself.” 

Steve had shrugged weakly. “I don’t know. I just feel like … I’m missing something. And I can’t move on before I’ve found it.”

 

It haunted his dreams again. 

Bucky, laughing and joking.

Bucky holding Steve as he cried against his shoulder.

Bucky falling, again and again, his scream echoing between the mountains.

 

But he couldn’t completely stop.

He couldn’t forget again. 

Something about that journal, the quiet moments of reliving the past and learning more and more about his friend, it had felt less lonely and lost, and Steve couldnt forget about that.

 

Yet, he didnt touch the journal.

Something about the last entry that he’d read …. he didnt want to know what happened next.

Because he didnt remember.

And he felt like there was a reason for that.

_________

 

Nat dragged him into bars, where young women kept batting their eyes at him and it made him feel weird. He didn’t feel older than them but at the same time they seemed to be from a different time. A different world. He politely bought them drinks and introduced them to a group of awkward looking young men that were quietly staring at the ceiling. 

 

Natasha seemed to have made it her mission to make Steve have a social life. 

“You have to get out more. All this sulking isn’t gonna help anyone. It’s making me feel sorry for you. Find some friends! Live a little!” 

But Steve had lived. And he was kinda tired of it. 

 

“I made a friend!” He said. It came out more whiny than intended. “His name is Sam, we do sports together. That counts!”  

 

He also exchanged at least three sentences with a nurse who lived in his apartment once a day. The guy in the coffee shop down the street told him about his vacation. 

He visited Penny alot, though she did not recognize him much these days. And when she did, she told the same stories and got all sad about him being alone. 

He’d thought about getting more in touch with her family. But that felt like intruding. 

 

Stark didn’t seem to like him much either. He didn’t react to Steve’s phone calls and he blocked him on twitter.

 

Fury seemed like a decent guy but he also did not seem very interested in making small talk and going to bars. 

Not that Steve ever asked him.

He wished he did, he realized, as the man took a bullet to his chest in the middle of Steve’s living room.

_______

 

With SHIELD turned against him, Fury dead and a faceless assassin hunting him, it seemed like Steve’s world had once again been turned upside down. Everything he thought he’d know, people he’d thought he could trust … It was all a lie and he had no idea what to do next. How to know who he could trust. 

 

He had wondered about the others, Stark and Banner and the guy with the arrows. 

Had considered asking them for help. 

But how to know if they were to be trusted?

If they hadn’t been used by HYDRA, even if it was without their knowledge.

He wasn’t even sure if he could trust Natasha but he didn’t have much choice.

 

And that man, that soldier … He had caught his shield mid-air like it was nothing. 

Had broken through walls, run at super-human speed, moved and jumped like a cat, with ease and deadly elegance.

There was something unnatural and mechanic about him.

From what Nat could tell him, he should not be underestimated.

 

It occured to Steve that he might not survive this war.

So he made a decision.

It was a great risk to go back to his apartment. But he couldn’t leave it behind.

 

He used the maintenance entrance to sneak into the building.

Two soldiers dressed as cleaning service, their gun holster outlined against the apron.

They didn’t see him coming.

Three more in the lobby who he avoided.

A heavily armed guard blocking his door. 

Steve caused a commotion in the  supplies cabinet, luring the man down the corridor.

His shield hit the back of the man’s head almost noiselessly.

 

Taking the route over the fire escape and through the window, Steve snuck into his old place.

Another guard had fallen asleep on the couch. Steve made sure he stayed that way.

 

The Journal was untouched, buried under the coffee table, under a pile of newspapers.

Steve took the small book and retreated the way he came, disappearing into the night.

 

The past was all he had now and he couldnt bear losing it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for skipping so much between the journal entries, I spent two weeks trying to think of something to write in between them but it would all have been extremely boring filler, so I decided to jump directly to the entry that I wanted to write instead.  
> Really hope you don't mind.
> 
> maybe I'll do some pre-serum one-shots some day to fill in the gaps
> 
> really sorry


	6. 05-Falling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve stared.  
> The man with Bucky’s face stared.

The Winter Soldier.

That’s what they called him. The faceless assassin who had murdered Fury and made Captain America a fugitive. 

Something about him haunted him, nagging at the back of his head. 

Natasha had said he was dangerous, an elite soldier, very capable. 

That alone made him a dangerous enemy.

 

But the way he had moved.

His speed and strength. 

His reflexes, catching Cap’s shield mid-flight.

The eyes staring from the black void of his face, cold and dead.

It wasn’t human. 

 

And as they were cowering in Sam’s apartment and he felt guilty for dragging him into this mess, Steve once again thought about the silhouette of the HYDRA asset, disappearing into the night.

 

He got the Journal out from it’s hiding place, relieved that at least one thing had survived the recent chaos.

Curling up in the guest bedroom Sam had offered him, he carefully skipped through the pages until he found the entry he had read last.

His heart beat faster and he felt his chest tighten again.

  
  


> October 18th, 1936
> 
>  
> 
> I wanted to stay away. Not talk. Never face what happened.
> 
> But I can’t live without Steve. And if he hates me, if he’s disgusted by me, then at least I’d have tried. But he needs me. And I need him.
> 
>  
> 
> So I went to his place again, wanting to apologize.
> 
> And I was so scared.
> 
> He was confused that I had gone. He was hungover and tired and he was so glad to see me, he almost jumped into my arms.
> 
>  
> 
> But he didn’t remember.
> 
> Steve was too drunk last night. 
> 
> He doesn’t know … 
> 
>  
> 
> He asked why I left and I told him I needed air. 
> 
> Steve made breakfast even though neither of us was hungry and we ate it on the couch. 
> 
> We didn’t talk much, he just thanked me for coming back and leaned against me and he was just so vulnerable, it made my chest ache.
> 
>  
> 
> I should be happy. I should be relieved. 
> 
> But … it hurt. I don’t know why. 
> 
> It’s like part of me wants him to remember that night. 
> 
> But now I am left alone with all of this.
> 
>  
> 
> I can’t tell him, he has been through so much.
> 
>  
> 
> Steve was so sad and exhausted, he fell asleep on my lap right away. He looked so small. I just wanted to hold him. 
> 
>  
> 
> We were drunk. It was nothing.
> 
> I am so stupid.
> 
>  
> 
> I couldn’t stop looking at his lips.
> 
>  
> 
> nothing nothing nothing nothing
> 
>  
> 
> I am glad he is sleeping calmly though.
> 
> No coughing. No panic attacks. 
> 
> It will be a while until he can be happy again, I know.
> 
> But he is safe and healthy.
> 
> And I am not leaving him.
> 
> Whatever it was that happened, whatever is going on, that much I know : I will never leave Steve behind.

 

So he didn’t remember. He just didn’t. But Bucky did. 

Steve wondered how long that night had haunted his friend and he felt … guilty. 

They had been young and drunk. And kids experimented. 

 

He was grateful to Bucky, for coming back, for being there.

Steve did remember that part, having him around as he tried to pull his life together. 

Until he’d kicked him out again, determined to be independent from his friend, just for once get something done by himself. 

And even then, Bucky had never stopped checking on him, visiting and staying over and hovering around him. 

Always there. 

Never wanting to leave. 

He traced the neat handwriting with his fingertip. 

 

_ But you did leave me, Buck, you left me twice and it’s all my fault.  _

 

> November 24th, 1936
> 
>  
> 
> Steve’s coughing again, so I am spending alot of time there. I like it better at his place than at home, anyway. But he sleeps and eats and there’s no  blood when he’s coughing, so he will be fine. Sometimes I think I’m annoying him a bit by being around so much but I dont think that will make me stay away.
> 
>  
> 
> I won another championship last week, which impressed Louise from art class. Took her out, we danced and laughed and kissed. She is very pretty and a good artist and she is kind and friendly. 
> 
>  
> 
> But somehow … being with her feels empty.
> 
> It’s fun, she’s fun, but I am starting to wonder if there shouldn’t be more than that. 
> 
> I’m not a child anymore, I shouldn’t date every girl that looks at me and drop them a few weeks after.
> 
> They deserve better than that.
> 
> I deserve better than that, I think. 
> 
>  
> 
> But I don’t know what it is supposed to feel like either. 
> 
> Or maybe I do and I am afraid of it. 
> 
>  
> 
> When I danced with Steve it was so natural, without thinking about it, thinking and breathing moving in sync.
> 
> When I kissed him I felt invincible. 
> 
>  
> 
> Over the past weeks I have thought about it alot. 
> 
> I can’t stop thinking about it. About him. 
> 
> Steve makes all the songs make sense.
> 
>  
> 
> And I know I can’t think that way.
> 
> I can’t feel that way. 
> 
> Everything is wrong.
> 
>  
> 
> Steve lost so much already, I cannot let him lose me. 
> 
>  
> 
> I will take Louise out again.
> 
> Dance with her and kiss her and listen to her stories.
> 
> I like her. Maybe I can make myself love her. 
> 
>  

Steve stared. 

His heart beat painfully fast, throwing itself against his ribcage, pounding like it was trying to make up for lost time.

He drew a slow breath and read again. 

 

“Buck…” he whispered softly. “Were you…?” 

 

He thought back, trying to remember the details of nights spent curled up against each other, the many times he’d been haunted by feverish nightmares and found himself next to Bucky, cold cloth on his forehead. 

In another time, another life, would he have considered their intimacy as romantic?

 

How much was there that he had not known about his best friend? 

How many battles had he fought with himself, hiding it all from Steve, who was too busy idolizing the confident man to notice the turmoil within? 

 

Steve closed his eyes and leaned back, waiting for his heartbeat to slow down.

What did it matter.

He was old and tired and he’d seen so much war and death, what use was there in questioning love? 

Feeling guilty about it didnt help anyone. 

 

Steve was used to the pain by now, the constant agony of loss and grief and betrayal.

But the thought of so many possible futures that had been taken from him still felt like the worst of it.

He wished he could talk to Peggy, tell her about all this, ask her what he should do.

She’d know, she had lived, she was wise and kind. 

Next to her, he felt like a stubborn kid.

 

_______

 

Natasha kept suggesting women to him.

She was getting kinda desperate, too, naming accountants and cashiers and basically any female Steve had ever interacted with.

It was kinda sweet. 

He didn’t feel old but at the same time he did. 

No one saw the world the way he did. They were too young to know.

 

Nat herself didnt seem like the relationship kind of person. 

She meant well but Steve had a feeling she just couldn’t relate what romantic relationships were like to begin with.

 

Sam understood, kind of. He’d dated and he’d lost people and he’d seen things many people haven’t. 

They sat together one night, drinking beer that had zero effect on Steve, waiting for Nat to find Sitwell and plan the best approach. She had insisted the “boys” take a break and let her work in peace. Sometimes she sounded like a tired mother trying to keep her toddlers in track. 

 

“Can I ask you something kinda personal?” Sam asked.

Steve looked up and shrugged. “Go ahead.

“That book you keep with you” Sam said quietly. “what is it?” 

“Memories.” Steve said softly. “A journal, of someone I lost.”

He twisted the bottle in his hands and eyed it started peeling at the label.

 

Sam nodded thoughtfully. “Tell you anything interesting?”

“I dont know. I guess. It’s not.. not what I expected.” Steve took a deep breath, furrowing his brows. “I think he was in love with me. He was so scared and I had no idea.”

The other man arched his brow. “You never suspected?”

“It wasn’t a time where it was appropriate.” He reminded him. “So I don’t think I’d ever have considered it. And besides, we were just kids… “

“Sometimes children are alot wiser than any adult could be.” Sam said softly. “They are less blinded by convention and prejudice.”

 

Steve nodded thoughtfully. He didn’t know what to make from all this. The journal. Sometimes it felt like and invasion of privacy but other times it was like being back together, telling each other everything.

 

_ Not everything, apparently. _ Steve thought. 

 

The soldiers sat in silence, each lost in their own memories, until Natasha picked them up to get back to work. 

Back into battle.

Back to defeating HYDRA and their asset.

  
  


_ ________ _

 

> 1938
> 
>  
> 
> People say there will be war.
> 
> Everyone was talking about it at school.
> 
> We, the country, we don’t want to be part of it, but people are dying and there is war and our teachers say all young men will have to fight for our country when the time has come.
> 
>  
> 
> Many of them know war. 
> 
> They speak of it so proudly.
> 
> I can fight, I am strong, I have already lost my soul and my chance to go to heaven long ago. 
> 
> If it comes to that, if we have to fight, then I will go.
> 
>  
> 
> I can learn how to handle a weapon. 
> 
> I can learn how to be a good soldier.
> 
>  
> 
> Just please, make Steve stay away from it all.
> 
>  
> 
> His eyes were glowing so proudly.
> 
> I know he is looking for a chance to prove himself. 
> 
> All those stories about his dad, they are getting into his head.
> 
> He wants to be a hero so bad.
> 
>  
> 
> He doesnt know he is a hero already.
> 
> That violence does not right wrongs.
> 
> He says he doesnt like bullies and he wants to fight for justice. 
> 
> I know his intention is good, because he is good, but I also see the way he looks at those posters, the way he nodds along when our teachers speak of the glories of war.
> 
>  
> 
> He spent all his life being the Little Guy.
> 
> How do I tell him that it makes him braver and stronger than all of those giants who are ready top enlist?
> 
>  
> 
> Please keep him away from all this.
> 
> _______________
> 
>  
> 
> 1940
> 
>  
> 
> The world is on fire, war and death are everywhere and we all need to do our part to keep our country safe.
> 
> Steve insists on trying to get into the armed forces, he says he can’t sit and watch while others lay down their lives.
> 
> I took him to the Boxing Gym with me.
> 
> Not for the war, but, if I go then he will be alone and he needs to stay safe.
> 
>  
> 
> We train there every day now.
> 
> Steve is determined, he is fast and he never gives up.
> 
> But his limbs are too long and too thin and his reflexes are slow.
> 
>  
> 
> I am worried about him. 
> 
> Maybe there is no good ending to all of this.
> 
> But I can try.
> 
>  
> 
> We’ll probably go to the recruitment center together.
> 
> And I will keep trying to talk sense into him. 
> 
> They wont take him, he is sick and skinny and he wont even survive the training. 
> 
> But I worry that he will not take no for an answer.
> 
> _________
> 
>  
> 
> 1941 
> 
>  
> 
> I got drafted.
> 
> I will join the 107th Infantry Regiment, just like Steve’s dad.
> 
>  
> 
> Steve got rejected. 
> 
> He’s too sick and small to fight. 
> 
> But it won’t stop him, he’s already reaching out to the shady looking boys on the schoolyard to fake his documents.
> 
>  
> 
> I told him he shouldnt want to fight, that he should be happy he can stay here, safe. 
> 
> But it’s not about the risk for him. 
> 
> It’s not even about the killing or the glory.
> 
> Just a question of honour and loyalty. 
> 
> Of what he believes in. 
> 
>  
> 
> God, I hope the people at the recruitment office are smarter than that. 
> 
> If I have to leave, I need to know he’ll be alright.
> 
>  
> 
> I never really considered the consequences. 
> 
> If i leave.
> 
> Will Ma be safe? Will the kids be?
> 
> If Steve gets sick again, who will give him his medicine and wash him and wake him from his night terrors?
> 
>  
> 
> I don’t want to leave. Not really. But I might have to.
> 
> One thing Steve is right about, there are people dying and I have no right to stay home safely and leave them to suffer alone. Not if there’s something I can do to help. 
> 
>  
> 
> And if my grandma was right and there is a god, then maybe if I go and do what’s right, everyone else will stay safe.
> 
> Ma will be safe and the kids, maybe dad will finally find his honour and protect them the way I did.
> 
> Maybe if I do good, Steve will be safe and healthy.
> 
>  
> 
> Maybe he’ll even find a clever girl one day who is smart enough to see beyond the looks and recognize how amazing he is.
> 
> Steve deserves that. A wife and children in a nice house with a good job. A family. He lost his too soon.
> 
>  
> 
> I just really want him to be happy.
> 
> And sometimes I wish I was the one who could make him happy. 
> 
> Those thoughts, those feelings, they wont go away, no matter how much I try. And I hate myself for it. I hate writing it down, too, but I cant tell anyone and I need to put all of this away, pack it in a box, bury it deep inside my head. 
> 
>  
> 
> No matter how hard I try, how many girls I’ve been with over the past years, I cant get that one night out of my head. 
> 
> I cared about them, the girls I dated, and I did what I could to treat them right. Because I never want to be that kind of guy who looks at a woman and sees a plaything to toy around with for his amusement. 
> 
>  
> 
> But still, no matter how kind and funny and gorgeous all of them were, I never got myself to really love them.
> 
> And the past months, thinking about the war and the 107th, realizing that I will leave and that I dont know if I will ever return … 
> 
>  
> 
> I’ve just accepted that I will probably never love a woman the way I love Steve.
> 
> People say it’s wrong. He is a guy and I am a guy and it can never be. 
> 
> But I don’t see how something that feels so right, so safe, so natural, can be bad? 
> 
> Steve makes me feel whole, he makes me feel alive, he completes me. He is my best friend and I would be lost without him. He is my best friend and I am hopelessly in love with him. 
> 
>  
> 
> It seems to wrong to me that the world should celebrate me for killing a man, yet they would hate me for loving one.
> 
> ____________________
> 
>  
> 
> 1942
> 
>  
> 
> This is really happening.
> 
> Soon, I will travel to Wisconsin to train.
> 
>  
> 
> We’ll get trained to be real soldiers. Do real killing.
> 
> I can fight, I’ve fought before, but this feels different.
> 
> My mother and the kids tried. 
> 
> Well, the twins did, Beccy is a teenager now, she was very proud and promised to tell all her friends at school.
> 
>  
> 
> Dad said he was proud too. I warned him to behave. Not that I can do anything against him from overseas. But he flinched and nodded and I believe him.
> 
>  
> 
> Steve and I went back to the rooftop, where I told him. 
> 
> He was very angry. Said he was mad he didn’t get to go, asked me to talk to someone about it.
> 
> I wont, even if I could, I wouldnt risk anyone being stupid enough to say yes.
> 
> He wouldnt even survive the winter.
> 
>  
> 
> I couldn‘t say that, of course, so I said I would try. 
> 
> A little white lie. I’m not sure he believed me. 
> 
>  
> 
> Steve promised to keep an eye on my mum and my siblings. He said he’d send me letters with stories and drawings so I wouldn’t forget him.
> 
>  
> 
> It is selfish how much I want to stay with him.
> 
> How much I wanted to stay on that rooftop, just Steve and I, away from the world. 
> 
>  
> 
> At first, I was proud. Eager. And there is a certain appeal to it, the glory of fighting for your country, admired by the masses. A hero. 
> 
> I enjoy the spotlight, the admiration, the success, that’s why I participated in the championships.
> 
> But I know this is different. And that realization sinks in more and more with each day. 
> 
>  
> 
> Its actual war. With actual death. And I know there is a monster inside me that is just waiting to see the blood on my hands. It scares me. I don’t want to hurt people. But I think  _ it _ wants to.

 

________

 

Adrenaline was rushing through his veins, blood roaring in his ears, anger surging through him. 

He hated him and everything he stood for. 

For Fury, for SHIELD, for hunting him, making him a fugitive. 

 

Captain America was fueled by built-up rage when he finally met the Winter Soldier face to face.

The Soldier fought well, every movement calculated, every punch precise, knife flying in a blur from hand to hand.

No normal human would’ve stood a chance. 

He moved fast, elegant, almost cat-like.

 

Cap dodged the attacks, countering them with hits equally precise and strong. 

The Soldier’s armour seemed to absorb most of the impact. 

And even when he did strike a hit that would’ve been critical for any other enemy, the man did not seem to feel pain. 

He threw him into a car, putting his entire weight into a kick right to his chest and his opponent barely reacted.

 

Using Cap’s moment of shock to his advantage, the soldier regained the upper hand, his metal fingers of that odd arm wrapping around the Captain’s throat, lifting the giant man up in the air like a doll.

Pain shot through him, the edges of the patriot’s vision blurring as he struggled to breath. 

He glared at his attacker, staring right into the cold, pale face.

The mask concealed most of it, dirt and messy hair did the rest.

Only his eyes gleamed from the shadows, cold and dead, making him look even more like a killing machine.

 

The Soldier tossed him over the bridge like a disregarded toy, following the flying body, pouncing like a cat playing with it’s prey.

Cap struggled to his feet, just barely evading the knife that followed.

 

Dodging the incoming blows, he grabbed for his shield,  slamming the vibranium into the attacker’s face.

 

With his free hand, he grabbed his face and threw him over his shoulder, hearing the tearing if fabric.

The Soldier crashed into the concrete.

The mask came off.

 

Captain America stared, panting.

The Winter Soldier got up, turning around, eyes gleaming. 

 

And the world stood still.

And Steve felt his heart stop and his chest collapse and his head spin.

 

He knew that face.

He dreamt of it almost every night.

He’d seen it every day of his live, in one way or another.

He’d studied every line, every edge and curve, every shadow on it, painting it again and again until he memorized every detailed.

He’d loved that face, in a different life.

 

“Bucky?”

 

The name hurt. It tore through him like a bullet. Made the world shatter into a million pieces.

 

“Who the hell is Bucky?”

 

Nothing made sense anymore.

 

Steve stared.

The man with Bucky’s face stared.

 

Something else happened, he didnt know what. He just stared.

And he saw his eyes, the eyes that looked like Bucky’s, stare back in confusion, hesitating.

 

And then there was smoke and cars and the man with Bucky’s face was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> at this point I gave up using specific dates, for one because in my experience people get sloppy with diaries/journals the older they get, but also because I know nothing of American history and I found it hard to get behind what happened in the states around the time of World War II


	7. 06 - crash landing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Through blood and water and pain, he could make out the dark wet hair and the cat-like movement that was so familiar to him. 
> 
> Ironic.  
> When Steve was the one to fall, Bucky hadn’t hesitated to come after him.
> 
> Then the world went black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the delay, I've been writing every now and then but not in chronological order, so I now have timeline gaps that I need to fill.  
> Exams are coming up and everything has been a bit stressful.
> 
> But I love these boys and I have commited so the story, so I really wanna finish this!

Steve’s world was falling apart, again and again and again.

He was vaguely aware of getting into a car, of being dragged around, of people shouting, but in what order? 

Nothing made sense anymore.

His skin turned to ice, everything was happening in a blur and his mind couldnt keep track.

________________

 

_ “At least have some water, Steve, you know what the doctor said.”  _

 

_ Bucky’s voice was gentle but firm. He held up the bottle determently,  eyes piercing Steve even through the haze of his fever.  _

_ He wrapped his shaking hands around the glass, feeling his friend’s fingers wrap around his own, helping him lift the water to his lips.  _

_ It left a sour taste on his tongue.  _

 

_ Steve knew that it scared Bucky, everytime he got sick like this they both wondered if this time he wouldnt recover. That was the worst part, seeing the dark, gloomy looks on the people he cared about. Sometimes his mum had cried.  _

_ Buck played it off and joked about it, but he too bit his lip and ran his hand through his hair everytime he thought Steve wasnt looking.  _

 

_ But he stuck around.  _

_ He got good at it, too, knew when to put cold rags on his forehead, wether to leave him alone or to hold, to remind him to drink or to convince him to sleep. _

_ Whatever he needed, chances were Buck knew it before Steve did. _

 

_ He wondered if he’d ever be able to pay him back for his kindness.  _

__

_ ______________ _

 

Sam looked at him with deepest sympathy. 

“You are sure it was him?” He asked again. 

Steve dropped his head into his hand, running his fingers through his hair, groaning. 

“Yes, Sam, I’ve drawn that face a million times, I know every line, every shadow, every scar on it, it was him.” 

 

“How is that possible, you said he fell-” 

“I dont know!” His voice was louder than he had intended. But he didn’t feel like he had much control over himself anymore. He felt distanced from himself. Like he was running on autopilot.

“When I first got to europe I found him in a weapons factory. He was … strapped to a bench in a lab… I dont - we never talked about it, afterwards.” His stomach twisted. “Zola was trying to recreate the Serum. What if he succeeded. And whatever they did in that lab made him strong enough to survive the fall.” 

 

“Steve.” Natasha said softly. It was the first thing he’d heard her say since the bridge. “Whoever he used to be, the Winter Soldier is not him. You’ve seen him yourself, he is more weapon than he is human.” 

 

Steve shook his head violently, glaring at her, his face distorted by raw pain.

“I cant…. I can’t fight him. He...” 

“Not everything is solved by a colourful costume and determination, Steve.”

“I have to try!” 

 

“Right now, we have a mission!” Sam said firmly. “Every cop in the city has us on their radar and your former employer has plans to watch the world burn, how about we focus on that first?”   
Natasha nodded slowly. “There’s no getting to the Winter Soldier now anyway. Not as long as we can’t take a single step out the door without getting gunned down by a sniper. We need a plan.”

 

Steve nodded.

And he built up his wall, put on the mask.

Right now, the world needed Captain America and there was no space for Steve Rogers.

 

______________

 

His head was spinning.

He felt so empty.

There was nothing in him but the mission.

Everything else got pushed away, locked up in a box, buried deep inside his mind.

 

The Winter Soldier.

It’s just a Soldier. A machine. An asset. 

The enemy.

 

Wearing his friend’s face.

Don’t think. 

 

The mission. Finish the mission. 

 

Captain America fought the Winter Soldier, hit after hit after hit. 

Captain America had to fulfill the mission. Because that was what’s right.

 

And Steve felt like he was falling, deeper and deeper into the darkness, his friend’s face staring at him, the eyes all wrong, so cold and empty.

 

And Captain America fought. Completed his mission. He was winning.

And the Soldier was buried under debris.

He knew he wouldn’t make it, the helicarrier would blow and if the scraps of metal didnt kill him, the water below would drown him.

But the Captain doesnt kill needlessly.

 

As soon as the weight lifted from his body, the Winter Soldier attacked viciously.

 

And then Steve dropped the shield. 

He felt his bones crack and his face swell, blood running hot and sticky over his skin.

He just stared. Looked up into the cold, empty eyes and tried to find the man he had known all his life, had loved and trusted, that he’d die for no matter what.

 

He had to be in there somewhere.

He just had to.

He had promised he would always come back to him.

 

“I’m with you ‘til the end of the line, pal.”

 

And there was something.

Just a flash, of shock, of emotions, and then Steve was truly falling and everything was cold and dark.

 

Through blood and water and pain, he could make out the dark wet hair and the cat-like movement that was so familiar to him. 

 

Ironic. 

When Steve was the one to fall, Bucky hadn’t hesitated to come after him.

 

Then the world went black.

 

_______________

>  
> 
> Steve and I went to the park, in the middle of the night.
> 
> I dragged him out of his apartment in the middle of the night, he was all sleepy and moaned about me being insane. Maybe I am.
> 
>  
> 
> The park was empty and the air was ice cold and the first snow had fallen sometime before that, everything shimmered in blue and white. 
> 
> I dont know what made me do it, it was silly and risky for Steve’s health but I guess I just wanted thing to be like they were when we were small, just for a moment. 
> 
>  
> 
> The lake was frozen and I told Steve not to go on it yet, but he was sliding over it before I even finished my sentence. 
> 
> I tried to get him to come off and regretted the whole thing but he would listen.
> 
> He threw a snowball at me and before I knew it we were both on the damn ice and covered each other in snow like a bunch of 5 year olds.
> 
>  
> 
> I chased Steve over the ice and he fell, though I am not sure if he slipped or if he threw himself down on purpose. 
> 
> I just dropped next to him.
> 
> We were both laughing and it felt like we were invincible.
> 
>  
> 
> It was so cold and we were drenched in snow and ice, but Steve felt warm. 
> 
> He looked up at the stars and said he wondered what else could be out there, beyond our small bubble. He was so full of wonder, pointing at the constellations that he could see. 
> 
> He looked so beautiful in the moonlight.
> 
>  
> 
> I took off my glove and took his hand and Steve just squeezed back and got really quiet.
> 
> And I realized that I am hopelessly in love with him.
> 
> I’m leaving tomorrow and I dont know when or if I will be back, so what’s the point of hiding.
> 
>  
> 
> He told me to come back. I promised that I will.
> 
> No matter what it takes, how many years I’ll have to fight, how many bad guys stand in my way, I will always return to him.
> 
> ___________________
> 
>  
> 
> Today was goodbye.
> 
>  
> 
> My mum cried and it broke my heart.
> 
> I told her not to worry, promised to write, to be safe, to be careful, to make her proud. She hugged me and cried into my shoulder, saying she was already proud of everything I’ve achieved. That I was everything she’d ever want me to be. 
> 
> I told her that I loved her, that it will be okay.
> 
>  
> 
> I will miss her terribly. All of them. Maybe even dad, a bit. My home. My life. 
> 
>  
> 
> I am leaving with a mixture of excitement and sadness.
> 
> It hurts to leave them behind. 
> 
> But I always wanted more from life.
> 
> Adventure. Heroism. All the stories we told each other as kids. I know I can be more than the boy from the broken family in a broken apartment. 
> 
>  
> 
> I will make them proud. 
> 
> Maybe even make myself proud. 
> 
>  
> 
> I am scared but I guess that’s growing up.
> 
> Scary. 
> 
>  
> 
> Steve is still kinda hurt. He promised to come after me, that he wouldn’t let me across the ocean without him, but I sincerely hope he won’t. 
> 
> I promised to write him and he promised to paint for me. 
> 
> All I wanted was to kiss him goodbye. 
> 
> One last time.
> 
> It almost tore me apart.

___________________

  
  


He had promised he’d always come back.

So he did.

Just not in the way Steve had wanted.

But he was alive and he had remembered.

There was still something of Bucky Barnes inside the Soldier and Steve would find him.

 

This time, he wouldn’t let his friend down.

No matter what it would take.

 

Outside of his hospital room, Sam and Natasha seemed to be fighting, waving their hands around, their voices muffled to an energized mumbling by the thick glass. 

Steve had told them he didn’t need medical care, at least not for long, the serum would fix him up quick enough. But Sam had insisted he’d stay here for at least a week, brought him clothes and his sketchbook and the journal. 

 

Steve suspected the stay was less about his physical healing and more about his mental state. 

His friend didn’t seem to have too much faith in what had happened on the helicarrier. 

How could he, having worked with traumatized vets, having experienced loss and trauma himself. In his eyes, Steve had pulled himself out of the water, willed himself to believe his friend was the one who saved him, wishing that the only person who was left from a life long gone had returned to him. 

 

But he did. 

 

Steve had sketched the scene many times by now, the crashing helicarrier with two men falling off it, the silhouettes of them in the rushing water, the vague, blurry shape of a man standing above him, dripping water. 

Most of all, he’d tried to draw the haunted expression on the Winter Soldier’s face and the flash of shock and realization he was sure he’d seen on it shortly before he fell. 

 

Nat had looked at the drawing and smiled, saying that he was starting to romantize the scene. 

She hadn’t questioned him. Having deviated from her ways herself, changed her beliefs and broken free of her own programming, she at least considered the possibility that something had changed inside him. 

 

The fighting outside his glass prison stopped and the two came in, still rolling their eyes in annoyance. 

“Pack your things, Captain.” Sam sighed. “We have a funeral to go to.”

 

___________________

>  
> 
> 1943
> 
>  
> 
> Man I havent written in ages.
> 
> Things have been so busy. 
> 
> The other guys are alright, we’ve been training together long enough to know we can trust each other. Die for each other if need be.
> 
>  
> 
> Turns out the boxing wasnt a complete waste of time. 
> 
> Sergeant Barnes. 
> 
> Still sounds strange. But it is an honour.
> 
>  
> 
> We will be shipped over to England. 
> 
> From there we can get through Europe. 
> 
> We don’t know what exactly the plan is yet, but we’ll find out soon enough. 
> 
>  
> 
> There’s a few days left. Enough to go home, see my family.
> 
> See Steve.
> 
> There’s some science fair, I think. Might be a good way to avoid awkward silence and serious conversations. No need to talk about what will happen once I am over there. 
> 
> _____________
> 
>  
> 
> Steve was being a total jerk, of course. 
> 
> He gave me a giant pack of paper and pens and made me swear I’ll write to him. I’m surprised he didnt get me a locket with this picture inside like a High School Sweetheart. 
> 
>  
> 
> He’s is still trying to get into the army.
> 
> He’ll get in so much trouble if they find out about his schemes. 
> 
> I tried to tell him that it ain’t as fun and adventurous as he thinks. I told him about the sleepless nights and the mud and the cold, the time I got too sassy with the Colonel which meant no dinner for any of us which meant I got beat up behind the tents. He just got more excited. And I can’t tell him how worried I am without making him worry about me, which would also just encourage him. 
> 
>  
> 
> And I’m still saving that punk from himself; pulled him out of another alley fight behind the movie theater the other day, trying to scare a dude twice his size away with a trash can lid. Scares me to think what might’ve happened if I hadn’t found them. Wonder how many times he broke his nose while I was gone.
> 
>  
> 
> The fair wasnt what I had hoped for either. 
> 
> This Stark has all these brilliant ideas but none of them seem to me like they can actually make a difference. 
> 
> Don’t really see how flying cars and talking stoves can help make the world a better place. 
> 
> I did get two fine ladies to join us, hoping at least one of them would give Steve a chance, but he was too busy fussing over recruitment once again.
> 
>  
> 
> He is such a great guy and soon he’ll be the only guy our age who isn’t off to get shot at. It really could be his chance to find a nice girl and fall in love. Or at least find some friends and get out more. 
> 
>  
> 
> We said goodbye so quickly. There were a million things I wanted to say but I didn’t know how. Guess it’s better this way, makes it feel less like the end.
> 
>  
> 
> And now I am leaving. The ship’s waiting. And I am so scared.


	8. 07 - scream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING mentions of torture and generally, a darker chapter.  
> Its a bit of a "bonus chapter" basically.

Rain was drumming against the windows of the hotel room, heavy clouds casting an eerie gray light, as if to underline the heavy feeling inside Steve’s chest. 

He put the journal down, running his hands through his hair with a long sigh. 

Had he even known his friend at all? 

 

All these years he’d looked at Bucky Barnes with awe, had admired how easy he made everything look, talking to strangers, flirting with girls, beating up a bully in a dark alley with just one punch. He’d always seemed strong and brave and happy. 

Steve had envied him.

 

But he’d been wrong. 

 

“I should’ve been there for you…” 

He whispered darkly, leaning his head against the cold glass. 

Outside, the world looked gray and wet and empty. 

Steve felt as though the weather was mocking him.

 

Voices sounded from the hallway, words muffled by the walls but clearly angry.

Sam and Nat were fighting again. 

 

The door opened tentatively and the two fell silent immediately, stepping into the room with an air of caution. Not a good sign.

 

“Steve?” Sam said carefully, his eyes resting on the journal. 

“I’m fine.” He answered, getting out of the armchair to stand up straight, trying his best to look ready for whatever bad news they had for him. 

 

“Natasha found something. But I’m not sure if you wanna see it.”

His face was set with worry, his voice calm and quiet. 

But there was something else. 

 

Steve felt his stomach lurch. His heart beat faster. 

“News on Buck?” 

He tried his best not to sound too eager, but his voice betrayed his nervosity. 

 

Natasha’s face was unreadable as ever, set in a cold mask. 

She held a folder in her hands, yellowed pages bound in stained cardboard, her fingers curled tightly around it. 

 

“The Winter Soldier.” She said. “Had to pull some strings and make some questionable decisions but …” 

She took a shaky breath, her hands curling more tightly around the paper.

“They’re notes, of Zola’s successor, from the Winter Soldier Program.”

 

“That do not in any way help us find him now!” Sam said angrily. 

He stood with his back to Steve, stepping in front of him like a human shield, shoulders tense. His hands where shaking.

 

“Sam, he deserved to know.” Nat said calmly, her eyes cold and steady. 

She looked up at Steve. “You don’t have to read it. Chances are, it wont help with finding him now. And what’s in these... “ Her gaze flickered. 

 

Steve stared at her hands, feeling his head spin with panic, his hands clenching into fists until he could feel his nails digging into the skin of his palms. 

He had seen the lab inside the factory. 

He had read some of Zola’s notes, back then. 

And he had seen the cold, dead eyes of the Winter Soldier, more weapon than he was human. 

A weapon that wore his best friend’s face. 

 

“Steve. Don’t.” Sam said, turning towards him, his hand reaching out but not touching. 

 

Steve took a shaky breath and turned around, staring out the window without really looking. He pressed his forehead against the cold glass. 

Sam was right, none of this was very likely to help them find whatever was left of his friend. 

It would probably only hurt him, make him even more angry, even more desperate to change everything that had happened. 

And yet.

He had to know. 

They had taken an honest, compassionate man and turned him into a monster and he had to know why and how and how they were going to fix it.

 

“Just … tell me. Please.” He said hoarsely. 

 

A few seconds of quiet, followed by Sam’s footsteps and the door closing behind him.

Fair enough. He didn’t need to hear this. Who knows how many stories like this he had already heard.  

 

“They needed a weapon, not a man.” 

 

Natasha began. Her voice was steady but Steve knew her well enough by now to notice the soft undertone. Compassion and pain. He wondered if whatever was coming was close to what happened in the Red Room. 

 

“Humans are fragile, Steve. Our minds … can be reprogrammed. Whoever he was before all this, HYDRA tried really hard to erase that.”

“How.” 

“Sam is right, you know. You might not want to hear.”

“Nat… please.”

 

She exhaled. 

“Dehumanization. Solitude, deprivation of senses, nudity, physical torture. Many of the subjects didn’t even survive the first phase.”

“There were more?” 

“At first, yes. They experimented, tried to find the … most effective strategy. But I dont know how many survived the whole procedure.”

 

Steve felt empty and cold. His skin went numb and a bitter taste stung his tongue.

“Go on.”

 

“The ones who made it through the first phase were subjected to a series of … medical tests.”

 

There was a shuffling noise. The pale reflection in the window showed Natasha sitting down on the stained kitchen table, watching him closely. 

 

“For him specifically, they had to get the arm to work. There were multiple failed attempts. Even the one he has now is unlikely to be completely finished. Nothing close to what Stark could ever built. And there’s the Serum.”

 

“They were trying to recreate the one they put in me.” Steve said. “I saw the files in the factory. He was the first in a long row of men who survived the first injection.”

 

“But it was incomplete. And they kept working on it. Ran tests … on healing and … pain tolerance.”

She flinched and Steve felt sick.

 

“Phase three was the conditioning. Electroshock therapy to make them learn trigger words and basic commands. Until it’s easier to follow orders. Creates a nice static in the mind, everything else just hurts.”

 

Steve turned his head, looking over his shoulder.

Natasha’s eyes were hazy, staring into nothingness.

 

“After that it’s just a question of training combat and making sure they know their place. Sometimes there’s punishment for slipping up and sometimes there’s punishment for their enjoyment.” 

Her voice was quiet and tense.

“He was good. They were impressed. He got extra training, learned how to blend in with locals anywhere, to get into their lives, take it apart from the inside… A deadly assassin. Perfect Weapon.”

 

A shudder went through her and her eyes focused on the dried-up plant in the corner. 

 

“They kept him in cryo when they didn’t need him. Physically he might only be a few years older than you.”

 

Steve turned around, his face hardened and cold. 

He could feel the icy rage burn under his skin. 

 

“The people who were involved. His handlers. Were any of them part of what you released from the SHIELD computer?”

“These files are decades old. But … I can pull a few strings. It might take a couple of days.” 

She bit her lip. “But Steve, I dont think it’s a good idea.”

 

“Please, Nat. You know I have to know.” 

Natasha sighed. “Just … be careful. Dont let them win by turning you into what you hate most.”

 

Steve nodded. He needed air. 

On the way out, he rested his hand on Nat’s shoulder for a moment, looking into her eyes to let her know he understood. 

She ngave himn a weak smile.

 

And then he just ran, not going anywhere, just trying not to think, wanting to stop existing.

The rain and gloomy grayness of the day swallowed him. 

And Steve locked a part of him back in the tiny box that he had kept shut for so many years.

___________

 

The door slammed shut with a muffled bang. 

Dust swirled up from the carpet, dancing through the rays of gray light that streamed through the thin, ragged courtains. 

It wasn’t a pretty place by far, but it was all he had. 

Not many places were left to hide at ever since Black Widow had released enough information into the world for authorities to close HYDRA bank accounts and burn down their safe houses. 

The man knew they’d find this one eventually. He just hoped he had a bit more time.

 

His hope was in vain. 

When he stepped into the living room, the giant silhouette of a man waited for him by the fireplace. 

 

“Good evening, Vlad.” The voice sounded cold and calm. Too calm. Oh well. He’d known this day would come. 

 

“I dont know where he is.” The russian said. “The Asset malfunctioned. He did not return to us.” 

Captain America nodded. “We expected that.”

There was a soft breeze behind him. Vladimir didnt have to turn around to know who he’d find blocking the exit. How predictable. 

“So I cannot help you. Not that I would.” 

 

The super soldier took a step closer, towering over him, his expression now clear in the fading light. 

Hard, cold, dangerous. It made Vlad chuckle. 

“Something went wrong. He recognized me. He saved my life. Why?” The tragic hero growled.

 

“Too long since the last conditioning, I’d say. Fury’s been poking his nose into other people’s business. We had to cover our tracks.”

“Where would he go? Are there any safehouses in the area that weren’t in the files? How do we fix what you did to him?” 

 

It was highly amusing. The way his voice rose with anger and pain, eyes flashing, every muscle in his body tenseing. He was ready to save the world. But it was all in vain. 

 

“I’m sorry to disappoint you, Captain. You know how it is, with the hydra… cut off one head and all that.” Vlad shrugged dramatically. “Your little friend is dead by now. You are too late.”

 

He barely had a chance to notice the way the wind rushed by his ears til he found himself pinned to the wall, body crashing through the mouldy wood of a bookshelf. 

He laughed. 

 

“What do you mean? He was alive, I saw him, he pulled me out of the lake!” 

 

“Do you think so little of us?” The russian grinned. “If his programming has been compromised, it automatically triggers the Emergency Protocol.” His eyes glowed as his tongue flicked against his teeth. 

“Self Destruct.”

 

“What do you mean self-destruct? How to we stop him? Answer!” 

He shook the man by the collar, shouting.

 

“Steve!”

 

The warning came too late.

“Hail HYDRA!” The russian laughed, as foam rose from his throat.

 

He should’ve seen it coming.

The oldest trick in their reservoir.

It took only seconds and their only lead lay dead between the dusty books.

__________

  
  


_ Target: Steven Rogers alias Captain America _

_ Mission: Kill. Any means necessary. _

 

_ Kill.  _

_ pain. _

_ no matter _

_ Kill. _

 

_ Mission: Kill Steve Rogers. _

 

_ Hail HYDRA _

 

_ Soldier _

 

_ Kill. _

_ Fight. _

_ Win fight. _

_ No Pain _

_ No Punishment _

_ Back into the ice _

_ Kill. _

 

_ Til the end of the line? _

 

_ End of the line.  _

 

_ what…  this … ???? _

 

_ warmth, safety, trust _

_ lips _

_ lips??? _

 

_ protect _

 

_ what?? _

 

_ End Of The Line _

_ Mission Override _

 

_ Target: Steven Rogers alias Captain America _

_ Mission: Protect. At all cost.  _

 

_ but why? _

 

_ Protect _

 

_ okay _

 

_ WARNING!! _

_ ASSET COMPROMISED! _

_ HYDRA AT RISK _

_ INITIATING EMERGENCY PROTOCOL … _

 

_ Mission: Self Destruct. _

 

_ No. Protect.  _

 

_ MISSION: SELF DESTRUCT _

 

_ No.  _

_ Live. _

_ Protect. _

 

_ SELF DESTRUCT _

 

_ Til The End Of The Line. _

_ Protect. _

_ Oh. _

_ Protect… _

 

_ Yes. _

 

_ EMERGENCY PROTOCOL? _

 

_ Override.  _

_ End Of The Line. _

_ Mission is protect. _

 

_ Override accepted. _

 

_ P A I N _

 

_ its okay.  _

_ protect. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Credit to owlet and the amazing fic "This, You Protect", I used her idea for the "mission imperative" to describe the point where the Winter Soldier changes his programming.


	9. 08 - reaching

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve Rogers was well hidden these days. Buried and locked away, a small voice in Captain America’s head.
> 
> The world needed the serum-enhanced superhero, not the skinny little kid grieving for his friend.
> 
> Not even around his friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we're making so changes to the Age Of Ultron events, for obvious reasons
> 
> also, from now we'll be following the Winter Soldier every now and then and take a look into his new journal where he tries to figure out who he is

He had to be alive. Somehow, somewhere.

There was no way Steve could have lost him after just getting him back.

There was no proof that an emergency protocol even existed. 

It was a just a desperate attempt to make them give up, trying to keep Steve from finding him.

But not this time.

This time, he’d be there. 

He’d move heaven and hell and he wouldnt stop until Bucky was back home.

 

Steve Rogers was well hidden these days. Buried and locked away, a small voice in Captain America’s head. 

The world needed the serum-enhanced superhero, not the skinny little kid grieving for his friend.

Not even around his friends.

 

The journal was stored away safely but it remained closed. 

There weren’t many entries anymore anyway, Bucky had stopped writing shortly before HYDRA had captured him.

Whatever they’d done in the factory, he hadn’t even dared write it down.

 

Steve’s mind was plagued with regrets and unanswered questions. 

His nights restless, dreams filled with screams and pain.

 

He wondered if the Winter Soldier dreamt.

If, at least somewhere in the depth of his subconscious, he remembered his past.

 

He had to be somewhere out there.

Hiding. Afraid and lost.

Steve refused to believe anything else. 

Not this time.

_________

 

Rain was drumming against the thin walls, icy wind howling as it blew through the cracks, people outside yelling as they tried to get to safety. 

A hooded figure was curled up between the dumpsters.

The alley didnt offer the best shelter but it was dry enough and there had been tougher nights. Compared to Cryo, this was almost luxury.

 

The man pressed the bundle against his chest, his most valuable possessions. 

He’d found it all, tossed away by the people on the streets. They threw away perfectly good things, clothes with a few holes, food with only a few bites missing, ragged blankets and pillows and even furniture. 

But his favourite thing was a small notebook that he’d found, only the first few pages written on, the rest blank.

Something about it told him he’d liked writing things down.

So he did.

 

> mission: protect Steve Rogers
> 
> mission was successful
> 
> current mission unclear

 

He stared for a moment.  _ Mission unclear. What … who.  _

There was a corner in his brain that felt warm and blurry. 

It wanted him to look. To know. To remember.

But getting close hurt. 

 

> Name

 

_ What. Who. I am… I am. Me. My name… I had a name. Once. _

_ I dont remember _

He racked his brain, tried to reach out. Tried to find. It hurt. 

 

_ The man on the bridge.  _

_ He said... _

 

> Name: Bucky ?

 

> there was a man on a bridge
> 
> that’s what he called me
> 
>  
> 
> i am running
> 
> hiding
> 
> from people who hurt me

 

His head screamed. 

There was a metallic taste in his mouth.

>  
> 
> the man on the bridge, i know him
> 
> he was on the helipad
> 
> and he said things
> 
> and i didnt want him to die
> 
>  
> 
> he made the mission change
> 
>  
> 
> who is he
> 
> why did i not want him to die
> 
> bucky
> 
> he said thats my name
> 
> james buchanan barnes
> 
>  
> 
> til the end of the line
> 
> end of the line
> 
> end of the line
> 
>  
> 
> who was he
> 
> who am i

 

_________

 

Steve wasn’t a fan of parties. Especially not the one Stark liked to throw. Too many strangers, too many drunk people yelling at each other and the music was often too loud to have a decent conversation. 

 

But for Captain America to not be present after a mission like this would’ve unacceptable.

So he tried to latch himself unto his friends, letting them lead the conversations, trying to keep the attention on them and their success.

 

He’d enjoyed the spotlight once, when he had first been crowned Captain America. 

After living all his life in shadow, kicked and beaten and sent away, watching his friend bathe in the glory of boxing championships, pretty girlfriends, good grades and ultimately being Sergeant, Steve had been glad to be the one to be celebrated for once.

 

He’d loved his title and the pride that came with it. The adoring looks, the pictures and movies and cheering. 

It had felt like he mattered, like he could really make a difference. He had a role, he had a mission, he had something to be proud of. In service for his country.

 

It wasnt until later when he’d seen what remained of the 107th, seen the real heroes, the real war, the real painful truth of glory, that he realized how wrong he’d been.

 

His heart felt heavy at the thought of it.

They had hunted down HYDRA members, followed every lead, dug up every file they could get their hands on. Seen the terrible things the organization had done.

Had seem themselves now the poor kids they had recruited with false promises, gotten into their brains, turned them into monsters themselves.

 

No trace of the Winter Soldier. No trace of Bucky Barnes.

Only the gruesome details of how a good man had become a brainless killing machine.

At this point, Steve felt like there couldn’t possibly be any tears left in him to cry.

 

His gaze rested on Banner and Natasha, the two of them lost in a quiet conversation, Nat leaning very close, her face softer than Steve had ever seen it.

Those two had been a thing for a while now and he was certain everyone knew but them.

 

He’d seen Nat flirt, he’d seen her way with men, turning them into drooling boys. 

She knew she was irresistible when she wanted to be. 

In a way, it reminded him of Bucky. Especially now that he knew how much loneliness was behind the lighthearted game with other people’s hearts.

 

But with Bruce she was different. She was nervous. Vulnerable. She lost the carefully practised elegance of soft touch, batting eyes and seductive smiles. 

The difference was clear to Steve, even as he was watching from a distance.

But the poor scientist didn’t seem to see it.

Or maybe he didn’t dare to.

Which seemed oddly familiar.

 

As the world’s leading authority for waiting too long, Steve decided to help out.

_________

 

The staff at the Smithsonian Museum eyed the strange man carefully.

Something wasnt right about him. 

He was filthy, wearing ragged clothes, and he looked lost.

Probably homeless. 

But he’d paid entry, so there was no reason to kick him out.

Even though the other visitors avoided him, staring.

 

He was scribbling furiously into a tiny book.

Maybe he was an art student. 

Or a foreigner.

 

Either way, they hoped he’d find whatever he was looking for and get out quickly.

____________

 

> Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes
> 
>  
> 
> “Best friends since childhood, Bucky Barnes and Steven Rogers were inseparable on both schoolyard and battlefield. Barnes is the only Howling Commando to give his life in service of his country.”
> 
>  
> 
> Howling Commando
> 
>  
> 
> Born March 10th, 1917
> 
> 107th Infantry Regiment
> 
> Morita, Dugan, Jones, Dernier, Falsworth
> 
>  
> 
> eldest child of four
> 
> Brooklyn
> 
> HYDRA
> 
> Arnim Zola, Johann Schmidt
> 
> Follow Captain America into the Jaws of Death

 

__________

 

> i found out who the bridge man was and who i was
> 
> there is a museum
> 
> and an exhibit
> 
> i was looking for food and i saw the bridge man’s face of a poster
> 
> Captain America
> 
> Steve Rogers
> 
> and I went inside and looked at it
> 
> and i found that man he spoke of
> 
> Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes
> 
>  
> 
> he doesnt look like me, I think
> 
> he was his best friend
> 
> he was smiling
> 
> but he died
> 
>  
> 
> I died, too
> 
> I dont think I am alive
> 
>  
> 
> he had a family
> 
> why can’t i remember?
> 
>  

_________

 

The kids were fast, powerful and dangerous. 

Steve didn’t want to fight them.

They were just children, lost and scared. Intoxicated by false promises and victims to the abuse of HYDRA. 

 

He didn’t see her coming. 

 

_ The ballroom materialized around him, the rage of battle fading away under the soft music and laughter of the men around him.  _

_ People danced around him. He saw the Howling Commandos at a table, Morita telling a story that Steve couldnt hear over the laughter that rang from behind him. _

 

_ The laugh tore through his chest. _

_ He turned around and saw him. _

_ Bucky was leaning against the bar, grinning the way only he could. _

_ He looked good. Healthy and alive and happy, still in uniform, his hair short and his eyes glowing. _

 

_ Was this death?  _

_ Did the mutant girl kill him, fast and painless, sent him off to rejoin the people he’d lost? _

 

_ “Took you long enough to get here, pal!” Bucky said warmly.  _

_ Steve was completely frozen. His whole body ached, to go up to him, hold him, apologize for letting him down. Where ever this was, he never wanted to leave.  _

_ “I think there’s a special dame waiting for you.” His friend said softly, looking over Steve’s shoulder. _

 

_ Peggy was even more beautiful than Steve had remembered her. _

_ She touched his shoulder softly. Her eyes were warm and young and playful. _

_ “I believe you still owe me a dance.” She held out her hand. _

 

_ Steve reached out to take it. His hand went right through hers. _

_ The music stopped. The lights faded. The laughter rang out.  _

 

_ And Peggy disappeared like a cloud blown away by a gust of wind. _

_ Panicking, Steve turned around to Bucky who stared at him in shock, his hair long and dirty now, his eyes haunted.  _

_ “Steve?”  _

_ His body turned to dust. _

 

_ The world turned dark. Empty. _

_ Everyone was gone. _

_ His heart was racing, every breath he took ached, he turned around and around, running up and down, shouting but no words came out. _

 

_ He was alone. _

_ Completely alone in a world he didn’t know, all this blood on his hands, all this suffering around him and the pain inside him and no one was there. _

 

Even as the vision ended, that truth remained.

 

_______________

 

> I remember a bit now
> 
> I had a mother and a father
> 
> and my father was a bad man
> 
> he made me scared
> 
> but Steve was there and I trusted him
> 
> Steve was sick? 
> 
> he was small? I saw that in the museum
> 
>  
> 
> he could draw really well and I read him stories and he slept on the couch pillows
> 
>  
> 
> end of the line
> 
> end of the line?
> 
> why did he say that
> 
> why did i remember
> 
>  

_________________

 

> Steve used to pick fights alot but he was small
> 
> Dad used to beat Ma and I wanted him to stop
> 
> I was angry
> 
> and I was scared of myself
> 
>  
> 
> I fought alot
> 
> and there were girls? 
> 
> I kissed girls
> 
>  
> 
> I was a person, once
> 
>  
> 
> Becca liked reading stories but the twins couldnt concentrate on them
> 
>  
> 
> Steve’s mum was called Sarah… 
> 
>  

________

 

> I remember Steve being sick and I was there
> 
> I put cold rags on his forehead and held him and I was scared
> 
>  
> 
> sometimes he was too weak to shower for days so I washed him
> 
>  
> 
> he used to put newspaper in his shoes
> 
>  
> 
> my dad got sent to prison once

 

_________

 

Tony didn’t understand. 

What was it about the Starks that they seemed so intent to not get along with him?

Of course Steve didn’t seem different after the Maximoff kid had shown him his nightmare.

Because it was exactly that. A nightmare. One he lived everyday.

 

And being at Clint’s home made that even clearer.

He guessed all of them felt that, in a way. They all lived a life of war and never ending battle. 

They all wished for something or someone to come home to at the end of the day.

 

But for them, that was still a possibility. 

Stark had his girlfriend, no matter how messy their relationship was, everyone knew Pepper and Tony would be endgame. 

Thor had his scientist girlfriend and a magical space city to rule.

And now even Nat and Bruce seemed to have a chance no matter how much they tried to ignore that.

 

But Steve looked at the peaceful house and the laughing children and the warm looks Clint and his wife exchanged, and he knew his chance at a life like this was lost forever.

 

He thought back to the nights on the rooftop, dreaming up the future, bright and colourful and warm. 

 

Bucky had wanted to remain in the city, had loved the idea of his own kids having secret hideouts in places they weren’t supposed to go. He’d take them to his gym, show them how to fight, teach them the right values to defend. 

They’d probably have a dog to take to the park and play fetch and show the other families how much cooler they were than they.

 

Steve had wanted to go to the countryside and get a real house with a garden and a shed and maybe a forest or a lake. 

He would see the sun rise and set over the flat landscape, untouched by large skyscrapers and dirty cars. The perfect place to draw and paint and write. 

 

There was a time where he’d dreamed of a life like that with Peggy, her warmth fit the peacefulness of the vision perfectly. She would’ve been a great mother.

She had been. She had lived this life. Without him.

 

Wanda Maximoff might’ve showed him dramatic images of smoke and dust, but reality was just as painful.

_________

>  
> 
> it is getting too dangerous here
> 
> I need to leave
> 
> away from this country, over the sea, somewhere to hide
> 
> where they cant find me
> 
> i dont want to go back
> 
> dont
> 
> no
> 
> it hurts
> 
>  
> 
> lose the trail

 

_________

>  
> 
> I found a hiding place in a ship
> 
> I am hungry but its okay
> 
> I’ve been worse
> 
>  
> 
> there is a safehouse in romania, from when i wasnt me
> 
> i can hide there
> 
> my handlers wont go looking for me, they have to hide as well
> 
> it was in the newspaper
> 
> most of them might be dead by now
> 
>  
> 
> i remember being on a ship and being scared
> 
> when i was alive
> 
> _________
> 
>  
> 
> there was a girl that I liked who liked that I could fight
> 
>  
> 
> I dont wanna fight anymore
> 
>  

_________

 

> Romania
> 
> I remember my training
> 
> make them think youre alive
> 
> smile
> 
> make your voice sound nice
> 
> people like that
> 
> they will think you are a person

 

_________

 

The new Avengers recruits kept them busy.

It was a welcome distraction, another mission for Captain America to dive into.

Despite everything that had happened, he had grown somewhat fond of Wanda Maximoff, who had been named Scarlet Witch. Something about her determination and wit fascinated him, and he decided to mentor her as best as he could. 

 

Having Sam Wilson under the same roof helped,too. 

He still drove to the city for his volunteer work and offered counseling via skype, but most days he was a full member of the Avengers. Sam and Natasha were the only people who knew the Winter Soldier’s identity, the only people who knew the full story. 

 

They had kept looking, digging through HYDRA files, hunting down former members and anyone who was connected to the organization. But the Asset had disappeared without a trace, each lead ending on a dead man with foaming mouth or a burned down safehouse.

This, however, at least left a spark of hope that the russian agent had been wrong about the emergency protocol.

 

The overall public opinion on the Avengers initiative and what they called Superhumans had decreased dramatically. Press conferences became risky, they moved away from the city, desperately searching for peace and quiet. 

 

When he wasnt on a mission, Steve tried to keep occupied in the training area.

 

The shield smashed through the training dummies with ease and landed back on his bracer with a soft click.

“Two point three minutes, just like the last times Captain.” 

FRIDAY’s voice rang through the empty hall. Steve sighed. 

“Thanks. I’m good for now, I think.” 

He punched the reset code in a keypad on the wall and watched the obstacle course reset again. Sometimes it worried him how satisfying it was to completely wreck the place. 

 

“Still trying to be faster than Thor?” Wanda leaned against weapons rack, wearing her training gear, looking exhausted. 

“He’s cheating, he’s a literal god from outer space.” He replied. “Nightmares again?” He added softly.

She nodded weakly, picking up a handful of small knives and positioned herself facing the dummies that had now neatly reassembled.

“Bit ironic. I can control the mind of a stranger with the flick of a wrist, yet I am a slave to my own.” 

The first row of knives hit their targets.

 

“Wish I could say you get used to it.” Steve said quietly. “But I never did.”

Three blades hissed through the air and buried themselves in the bullseye. 

“I’ve seen your nightmares.” Wanda said carefully, knocking over half the obstacles with a swift hand movement. “Agent Carter. The Howling Commandos. … The Winter Soldier.”

 

Steve looked at her in surprise. She never really mentioned the visions that she had used to torture them with, much less what she had seen digging through their worst fears. He knew the girl felt guilty for what she had done, especially around Tony she moved carefully and with an air of deepest sympathy. Whatever she had shown him, the Iron Man had never really been the same since.

 

“I’m sorry. For making you see those things.” Wanda’s eyes were fixed on the gleaming blades in her hands. 

“At least I saw them again. I try to remember as best as I can but. That … something, what makes a person more real than a photograph? Sometimes I worry I forget.” 

The girl gripped the handle of her weapon tightly. “Do you think I’ll forget. Some day.” 

Steve thought for a moment, then shook his head, placing his hand gently on his friend’s shoulder. “I think no one can erase the people we love from our hearts, We just need someone to remind us.” 

 

Wanda chuckled softly, tossing the leftover knives aside and leaning against the rack to face him. “You sound so cheesy sometimes, like a cheap romance novel.” 

“It’s true!” He laughed. “Peggy has bad days, y’know? Days where she doesnt know who I am or who she is, where she doesnt recognize her children. But even on those days she know we matter to her. She speaks to us with love and trust.”

 

“You hope its the same for your friend. That you made him remember.”

The soldier felt his chest quiver. Of course she knew. He wondered how much she’d seen. 

“I have to.” He answered simply. “I just … have to keep moving.” He stared at the shiny vibranium shield, its surface barely scratched from the past battles, reflecting the room around them on its colourful surface. His colours. “I’ve been fighting for so long I’m afraid what will happen if I stop.”


	10. 09 - remember

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes the dreams where nice. Warm. Familiar.   
> They didnt feel like memories. It was odd, like watching someone else’s life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I dont have any upload schedule whatsoever, I started writing this without any plan and I keep jumping back and forth on the timeline while writing and then post the blocks of content that feel complete.   
> We are now catching up to Civil War, there will be alot of dream sequences / memories that I came up with while I was stuck in a train for three hours and I thought I might as well add them to this story.

_ The door flew open and slammed shut, swirling freezing air into the already chilly apartment. _

_ Steve jumped, the book falling from his hands. He turned around, his heart racing from the shock.  _ _   
_ _ “Jesus, Buck, will you ever learn to knock?” He exhaled. _

 

_ The other boy barely paid attention to him, his head buried in the cupboard, rummaging through it’s contents angrily. _

_ “What’s wrong?” Steve said more softly, his brows knitting together in worry.  _

_ Bucky rarely ever stopped staring at him with concern and pity these days, ever since the funeral he’d asked for his breathing and checked his pulse so much, he might as well become a nurse. This was bad news.  _

 

_ “Why do you never anything to drink?” He hissed. _

_ “I already spend enough time throwing up and tossing around with headaches and cramps.” _

_ That wasn’t the whole truth. Steve hadnt drunk since the funeral. He still couldn’t remember what had happened that night and something about that scared the shit out of him.  _

 

_ “Buck.” He said softly. His stomach clenched with emotion.  _

_ The cupboard door slammed shut. Steve flinched. _

_ “I … had a fight with Gabby.” Bucky said breathlessly.  _

_ “The girl from the dance? I thought it was going well?” _

_ “It was. She’s … she’s great, really, but I -” He turned around, his face twisted in pain and fear. “Steve. What if I’m like him? What if I become like my dad?” His voice was barely more than a whisper.  _

 

_ “Buck, no, you’d never-” _

_ “I almost hit her, Steve!” Bucky yelled, his shoulders heaving. “We had a stupid disagreement about the war and I got angry and I screamed and - God! The terror in her eyes, she-” He dropped to the floor, resting his head on his knees. “She looked at me the way mum used to look at dad.” _

 

_ Steve scrambled over the couch and half threw himself on his friend, his skinny arms wrapping around him. He could feel him shivering. _

 

_ “Bucky.” He said gently. “You are the kindest person I know. I’ve seen you fight, so many times, on schoolyards, in alleys, in the competitions, … You never lose control. You stop yourself, you give people a chance, you show mercy.” _

 

_ “Steve …” Bucky raised his head and looked up at him, his eyes shiny with tears. “Promise me … if I ever - hurt people. Innocent people. If I ever become the monster I fear I am, promise you’ll stop me.” _

> _ _____________ _
> 
>  
> 
> Steve woke with a start, his heart racing.
> 
> The words of his dream echoed in his head, the impact of them leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. He didnt know if it was a memory or just another guilt-filled nightmare, but the pain and fear in his friend’s voice felt very real.
> 
>  
> 
> If what was left of the Winter Soldier was out there, remembering his past, did he know what the Asset had done? 
> 
> Was there enough left of Bucky Barnes to make him realize Steve had failed him once again?
> 
> ____________
> 
>  
> 
> I have found a place to stay and there are people who will pay me for things
> 
> I dont have to hurt anyone
> 
> I just carry things
> 
> and fix things
> 
> and sometimes I escort a girl to school because I look dangerous and she is afraid 
> 
>  
> 
> I remembered a bit more
> 
> Steve got into fights alot
> 
> and sometimes I rescued him
> 
> and other times I cleaned his wounds 
> 
>  
> 
> Sometimes he got really sick and I was scared to lose him.
> 
> I didnt want to lose him.
> 
> He was my friend.
> 
> When I was alive I wanted him to be alive.
> 
>  
> 
> Does the Steve on the Bridge want me to be alive?
> 
> He didnt want to fight me.
> 
> He said he was my friend.
> 
> He doesn’t know I’m not alive.
> 
>  
> 
> Til The End Of The Line.
> 
>  
> 
> Why did I remember?
> 
> Why now?
> 
> Why him?
> 
>  
> 
> ____________

 

Tony had meant well, he knew that, but all of this was just …. _ too much. _

Steve had spent all his life sleeping in drawers, on couch pillows or just simply on the floor. His most priced possessions had been a few sketchbooks and pencils. Life had been simple but good.

Now, everyone seemed obsessed with owning things just to own them. More clothes than you could wear in a whole month, more cars than you could ever drive, giant TVs and fancy phones, fridges that wrote your shopping list and computers that made your phone calls.

 

When Tony Stark had insisted he’d be in charge of the interior design for the new Avenger’s base, they’d all feared he’d go a little over the top. 

 

Now Steve felt watched by FRIDAY every step he took, the constant messages on the fridge’s display irritated him and he aggressively wore the same clothes, no matter how many stylists and advisors rang his door. 

 

Most of the fancy tech accessories that came as standard setup in an Avenger’s rooms where now stacked in a box and shoved into the closet (which was, of course, as big as Steve’s old living room and kitchen together). 

 

He started peeling off his workout clothes, standing in his ridiculously large closet, still shaken from his conversation with Wanda. The girl had suffered so much, it felt selfish to burden her with his own problems. He wasnt the only one who’d lost people. They were all broken, just trying to get by in a world that judged and despised them more with each day.

 

“Captain.” The calm, steady voice made Steve jump and grab frantically for a weapon. 

“Apologies, I did not mean to frighten you. It appears I am not yet fully used to having a physical presence.” 

Vision stood perfectly still, facing the him with a steady gaze, as if being attacked by a naked super soldier was the most soothing thing that ever happened to him.

 

“Jesus, Vision.” Steve dropped the chair. “What did we tell you about doors?”

“If I had knocked, you wouldnt have opened.” He observed.

“Yeah, I’m not wearing pants.” 

“I thought you might want to know right away.”

“Know what?” 

How could the most advanced AI combined with a powerful alien gem have created the most socially awkward humanoid creature that could possibly exist on this planet.

 

The Android blinked and eyed Steve as if to asses the situation.

The soldier was trying to dress as quickly and discreetly as possible. 

It wasnt new to him to dress or undress in front of other men but .. well, Vision was hardly even human and the whole scene felt surreal.

 

“I could not help but overhear your conversation with Wanda earlier. And it made me remember. Back when I was JARVIS, or at least part of me was,” He hesitated, the stone on his forehead flickering. “I saw your friend. The one you call Bucky.”

 

Steve stopped. “When.”

“About two weeks after the Winter Soldier disappeared off the radar.”

“So he’s…” Steve’s voice was barely more than a whisper. “alive?”

 

“I would have told you sooner, but Mr Stark had me constantly connected to almost every existing network in the world, which means many things were happening all at once, all the time. Now that I seem to have a full conscious that thinks and feels, it has become increasingly difficult to filter information correctly. I couldnt remember until I was reminded-”

 

“Vision. Please.”

 

“The security cameras at the Smithsonian. They were focused on him for a while, I suspect his appearance made them suspicious. He must have found clothing somewhere, he was not wearing his combat clothes.”

 

Steve swallowed hard. Every muscle in his body was tense. He felt as though he might burn up.

“The museum.” 

“He was looking at the exhibit. Taking notes. Unfortunately I do not know what happened after he left the building. It appears his .. employees… trained him well. I couldnt-”

Vision’s sentence was cut short by 200 pounds of muscle crashing into him, arms wrapping around the vibranium figure.

The android blinked in confusion, his arms tentatively closing around the super soldier’s shoulders.

 

“Are you allright, Captain? You seem to be overwhelmed with-”

“Thank you.” Steve mumbled,  reluctantly pulling away from the embrace. 

The spark of hope glimmered in his chest, warm and soothing. If Bucky had not only survived but was looking into his past, maybe not all was lost. 

He was alive. That was all that mattered. 

With a swift movement, he pulled on a shirt and walked past the slightly perplex Android, desperate to flee the awkward closet scene. 

“Stay, if you like.” 

 

Vision cocked his head to the side, thoughtfully. 

“I must warn you, bringing the Winter Soldier anywhere near the Avengers might not be a good idea. If Mr Stark ever find out the truth, the consequences would be severe.”

 

“You know about that, too?” Steve said darkly.

“Security Camera footage. Very well hidden. I made sure it’d stay that way, it would only cause harm.”

“It wasnt him. I’ve seen it, I looked into his eyes. Whatever the Asset was, it wasnt - “

“Mr Stark might not see it that way.”

“I know… And.” He closed his eyes and drew a painful breath. “I am grateful, for everything Tony has done for me. He has been a good friend. But Bucky.” He stared at Vision intently. “He was always there. When he needs me I wont leave him. I wont stop until he is safe.”

> _____________
> 
>   
>    
> 
> 
> “I’m with you til the end of the line, pal.”
> 
> That’s what I said.
> 
> I said that.
> 
> When I was alive.
> 
>  
> 
> Steve was sad and I didn’t want him to be sad.
> 
> I wanted him to know that I was there for him.
> 
> I think I wanted to hold him like I did when he was sick.
> 
>  
> 
> and he said it on the flying thing
> 
> Something was in my head it wanted to hurt him
> 
> and then it wanted to hurt myself
> 
> but i really 
> 
> wanted
> 
> to live
> 
>  
> 
> i want to be okay again
> 
> will i?
> 
> will steve?
> 
>  
> 
> i hope
> 
> ____________

 

Gunshots echoed in Captain America’s ears, the rush of battle burning through him, his mind calm and focussed.

He had a purpose, a mission, a direct target. 

His shield flew through the air, each move precisely calculated, hostiles dropping with nothing more than a noise of surprise. He could hear the soft swooshing of Sam’s wings and feel the vibration in the air from Wanda’s powers.

It was good to have a team by his side, their movements like a choreography, skillfully taking down their enemies one by one, an unstoppable force.

 

It didn’t take long until Cap had Rumlow in his sight, following the path of destruction and then the missiles directed at himself. He dodged the attacks, trying to hide behind the shield while he ran to catch up with the target. Rubble flew past him, scratching his skin, the fire of explosions burning through the armour. Dust and smoke burned in his lungs, making his breathing hard and heavy. The sensation wasn’t new to him. He breathed through it.

 

The last missile took him by surprise, the force hitting him unexpectedly strong, sending him crashing through a window, his body hitting the ground several floors below. Pain shot along his spine, spread blazing hot along his limbs. He lay on the ground for a moment, breath knocked out from his lungs, trying to get his muscles to comply as he assessed the damage. At least two broken ribs, possibly internal injuries. His skin was torn by rubble and glass in a few places. 

 

The super soldier gasped, hot air finally filling his screaming lungs. he tried to push himself up, every muscle in his body protesting. “Sam… He’s in an AFB heading north.” He said through gritted teeth. They were getting dangerously close to the populated area, endangering the civilians. 

Fighting through the pain, Cap got up and got moving. People needed help, there was no time to rest now.

 

Rumlow’s punches were hard, fracturing his already wounded body, waves of pain tearing through him. He could feel his skin tear and his bones crack. 

Captain America kept fighting.

He backed away, scouting out the gaps in the screaming crowds. 

The attacks were quick but fueled by rage and hatred, it made him predictable. 

He had to get the man in the mask as far away from the civilians as possible. Preferably, without getting himself killed in the process.

 

The more attacks he dodged, the angrier the terrorist became. His punches came flying, screams and growls sounding from underneath the mask, each hit to himself accompanied by an insult. One moment of distraction and he was flying.

The mask came off, revealing the severely scarred face beneath. His eyes glinted mischievously. The man smiled. It was a look he had seen many times before, on almost every HYDRA operative he’d captured and interrogated. That disgusting pride as they realized the battle was lost, the self-satisfied calm shortly before they popped their capsules in service of their organization.

 

Cap lifted the man up, looking into his eyes as he asked for his buyer.

He felt the calm and cold rage settle on him. 

 

Rumlow grinned.

“You know, he knew you. Your pal, your buddy, your  _ Bucky _ !” He spat the name like an insult.

An icy chill went down Steve’s spine.

“What did you say?”

“He remembered you. I was there, he got all weepy about it.” The man laughed and shook his head in amusement. “Until they put his brain back in the blender.” 

Pain rippled through his body, worse than any physical injury. A wave of panic crashed around him. His head filled with screaming.

“He wanted you to know something, he said to me ‘please tell Rogers,” 

Everything else went quiet. His skin was burning. The breath caught in his lungs.  

“when you gotta go, you gotta go.’” The smile dropped, his features ice cold and serious. “And you’re coming with me.” 

Edges of his visions blurring. Everything spinning. 

 

He barely heard the click of the trigger. 

Only as the fire engulfed the terrorist and he felt the heat burn on his skin, his brain snapped back to action. For a moment he wondered why he wasnt dead. Then he turned around, saw Wanda, her face twisted in concentration and pain, the air alive around her.

Rumlows burning body flew through the air, Wanda screamed and then, for a moment, it all went quiet. 

The building erupted into flames, screams of terror and pain followed. 

“my god” 

 

___________

 

_ They set up camp, quietly, no fire, building tents and beds from what they had managed to scavenge at the Factory. The men were all exhausted and grieving, many had given their lives for their freedom.  _

 

_ Steve sat guard, watching intensely, aware of every weapon, every step on the emergency plan, just in case. He knew it was unlikely, very few HYDRA members had even survived the mission, their fearless leader had left them to bleed out into the dirt, their base stood in flames. _

 

_ No one would come hunt a few prisoners. _

_ And yet, he felt on edge, haunted. The images of the prison were burned into his memory. The cold hard reality of war.  _

_ Worst of all, the lab. His insides churned at the thought of the notes, sketches and tools. And Bucky right in the middle of it. _

 

_ Steve watched his friend retreat into the woods, unsure what to do or say. He was used to being the one who needed support. Sure, there’d been days where he had held Buck in his arms, consoling him from a break-up or telling him he wasnt like his dad, but that has usually ended it jokes and laughter.  _

_ Something told him this was different.  _

 

_ So he stared into the night, trying hard to clear his mind of the gruesome images. He didnt know how long he’d sat in solitude when Bucky returned, looking pale and exhausted. _

 

_ “You should try to rest.” Steve said softly. “We have a long walk ahead of us.” _

_ It was the first time that they’d had a chance to talk, after the chaos of their escape. It broke his heart to see his friend like this. _

 

_ “I can’t.” Bucky sat down next to him, poking his biceps. “Our guys did that to you?” His voice sounded hoarse.  _

_ “I volunteered, Buck.”  _ __   
_ “Did it hurt?” _ _   
_ __ “Like hell.” He didnt notice Bucky flinching. “But afterwards…

_ I could breathe. I can just breath and run and jump. Nothing hurt anymore.”  _

 

_ Steve looked as his friend, his expression darkening. “Until I came overseas and found out what happened to the 107th.” _

_ “They send you over to fight?” _

_ “Not exactly… I was more of a recruitment strategy. They had me do shows and meet with people and - I thought I was doing the right thing, I thought I was serving my country, making a difference. But then I saw your men and I realized how stupid I’d been.”  _

 

_ Bucky grinned weakly. “Y’know I always was the smart one, I told you.” He earned a gentle nudge in the ribs. “So you really did go stag on this, huh? No back-up, just rushing into danger without a plan? Why does that not surprise me…”  _

_ “The words you’re looking for is ‘thank you’, I believe.”  _

 

_ Bucky shook his head. “Hm nah, I think we’re even now, buddy.” He chuckled softly. “Guess I wont have to drag you out of alley fights anymore, huh?”  _

_ “You left me unsupervised for a few months and I picked a fight with an underground organization that serves the Nazis.” He shrugged. “I’ll always need you.” _

 

_ He laughed softly. “Yeah, me too.” _

 

_ Steve took his hand, fingers carefully intertwining, the free hand reaching around his shoulders. It was instinctive, the need to touch, to hold each other, to be back in that place that was safe and familiar.  _

_ Bucky leaned his head against his shoulder, closing his eyes. _

_ “Try to rest, Buck.” Steve whispered. “I’ll be here.” _

_ __________ _

 

Sometimes the dreams where nice. Warm. Familiar.    
They didnt feel like memories. It was odd, like watching someone else’s life.   
He wondered if he’d ever feel like he was the man from the museum, that war hero in the uniform who knew love and friendship, who had a family and a home.

 

The asset didnt have any of that. He wasnt a hero. Quite the opposite.    
Was he even still the asset? The Winter Soldier? A weapon? 

 

His brain slowly started to work better on its own, to understand situations, shape sentences and individual thought. It had been painful at first, a screeching agony inside his head. 

But there was no one to give him a mission, to tell him what to think and say. 

 

Even now that he had managed to understand part of he used to be, he still had no idea who he was.    
His mind was filled with noise.

________

 

_ She was a pretty dame, that much Bucky was willing to admit. And she had an aura of authority, that elegance and determination that gave her perfect control about those around her.  _

_ Even the men from the Commandos stood still and saluted when she entered the room. _

_ But there was something about Peggy Carter that made him uncomfortable. The way she looked at him. The way she looked at Steve. Her eyes glinting, clever smirk on her lips like she knew everything there was to know. _

 

_ Right now, though, she looked exhausted, her collected facade crumbling slightly.  _

_ Blood stained her neat shirt and her hair had fallen out of the carefully styled curls.  _

_ Bucky offered a cigarette, smirking in amusement. The agent took one, staring at him in a mixture of anger and amazement.  _

_ “I don’t know how you put up with him so long.” She huffed. “That man is a nightmare!” _

_ She took a long drag and shook her head. “Rushing off into danger like he’s invincible. Thinking his life is less important than any one else’s. He was losing so much blood, I don’t know how on earth you stayed so calm.”  _

 

_ Peggy looked up at the Sergeant, her eyes huge with worry. It was clear to him that she’d seen many men injured, probably even witnessed a few deaths. But it was different when it was someone close to you. Poor girl probably had no idea who she’d fallen for. _

 

_ Bucky shook his head. “I wasn’t.” _

_ “Pardon?” _

_ “I wasn’t calm. I was terrified. Still am. Don’t know what I would do without that useless punk in my life.” He chuckled. _

_ “You stayed remarkably steady.” She said quietly. _

_ He shook his head. “You don’t let them see that you’re scared. Don’t let them know you’re hurting. It was always my job to stay strong and brave. Give them hope. Tell them it’ll be alright. Whether it was Steve or my Ma or the Little Ones.”  _

_ He blew a cloud of smoke into the air, watching it dissolve slowly in the chilly air.  _

_ “I’ve feared for his life so many times… You dont get used to it. You just learn not to make him feel it.” _

 

_ Peggy eyed him carefully. “Must’ve been hard. To care for someone so much and fear to lose them each day. You could’ve backed out any time, yet you stayed.”  _

_ She flicked the stump of her cigarette on the ground and put it out with her delicate boot. _

_ “And I know they offered you an honourary discharge. You could’ve gone home.” _

 

_ Bucky shrugged. _

_ “Loving Steve is forever. There’s no stopping him or protecting him. All you can do is follow him into whatever shit he’s gotten into and patching up his wounds when he’s done. But he’s worth it.” _

_ He smiled, looking up at the night sky, the moon just barely visible behind dark clouds. _

_ What he’d give to be back on the rooftop in Brooklyn. _

_ “You’ll never find anyone with a kinder heart. Who can make you smile even when you don’t want to. He deserves the world…” He stopped himself, realizing what he’d just said. _

_ He wasn’t usually this uncareful. Damn Carter. _

 

_ Peggy must have seen the sudden shock on his face. She smiled warmly. _

_ “Does he know?” She said softly. _

_ Fuck. _

_ He shook his head. “He can never know.” _

_ “What if he feels the same.” _

_ “He likes you, ma’am. And, if you don’t mind me saying, you very clearly adore him.” _

_ The woman blushed and stared at her feet.  _

_ “I’ll be happy if he’s happy. You’ll take good care of him.”  _

_ Bucky said to the stars. _

 

________

 

The days following the events in Nigeria were hell.

For Wanda, it was drowning in her own guilt, watching the news relentlessly, letting the angry comments online get to her. No one got close to her, the walls surrounding her rooms were glowing red and impenetrable without considerable amount of force. 

Vision tried. He talked to her for a moment, then retreated to watch from afar.

 

For Tony it meant facing his actions, reliving realization that what he thought was helping his country also meant doing alot of damage to innocent bystanders. He had never forgiven himself for Ultron and Sokovia, the outrage from the media was the last straw.

 

Steve got lost in his mission again. 

Guilt shadowed his every move, driving him forward as he dug through file after file, sleepless nights if planning and rereading everything he found, hoping to see a detail he had missed the first time.

He blamed himself for the events, his own distraction at the mere mention of Bucky’s name, the way his emotions had controlled his actions instantly, killing civilians with his own carelessness. 

 

But he also felt like he’d let his friend down, again, not following the leads further, not being more determined in finding him. He’d known Buck had recognized him. He had hoped so much- Of course there was no guarantee Rumlow had told the truth. But there was a chance. A glimpse of hope. 

If HYDRA operatives where still out there, aware of Bucky, aware of Steve’s feeling for him, then he was in danger. He had to find him before they did. 

Steve couldn’t let him down again. 

From now on, Bucky was all that mattered.

 

Another wave of guilt hit him when he got that damn text.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank You all so much for reading, commenting and leaving kudos, it means the world to me that people enjoy the story!


	11. 10 - coming home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So many had tried and so many had failed.  
> But in the end, it was Steve Rogers who killed Captain America.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This will be basically the finale of this fic, I will add an epilogue and some nice fluffy things, but since I started working on a Holiday Trade piece that got more intense than I originally planned, I wanted to wrap Dusty Memories up before it got forgotten.  
> I apologize if there's any errors, I dont have anyone to proofread at the moment. 
> 
> That being said, I hope you enjoy, and keep your eyes open for the epilogue as well as the holiday trade piece.

The sun was still shining, warm rays hitting Steve’s face, casting a golden glow on the city. 

Everything out there looked empty. Like a painting, beautiful but motionless. 

He was still not quite used to seeing so many colours, the vivid greens of the trees, the deep reds of the brick buildings. Usually it amazed him, made him want to paint, to appreciate every single shade he saw. 

 

But today he felt like the world outside was mocking him, glowing brightly and happily as if the world wasnt ending. As though it wasnt cruel and painful and unfair.

 

Steve still remembered the first new colour he ever saw, right after the serum was injected.

It was the fiery red of Peggy Carter’s lipstick. He remembered getting smudges all over his face and hands. Watching her reapply it with a playful smirk on her lips. 

He had found the shade again after he got out of the ice, an exact replica of the Victory Red. 

It was his first gift to her when he’d seen her for the first time. Aged but still beautiful as the day they first met.

 

Maybe it was fitting. The perfect way to send Peggy Carter on her journey into whatever came next. With bright colours and warmth.

 

Soft footsteps sounded behind him. He didn’t turn around.

 

“Hey.” Nat’s voice was soft and quiet. “Just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

He shrugged. “I will be. Someday.” 

“Brought wine and greasy food.” She announced, followed by the rustling of fabric.

Music started playing. He knew the song though he couldnt name it. Too many new things in this new world.

 

He felt her hand on his shoulder. 

“I know you’re grieving. You have every right to. But you know she wouldn’t want you to lock yourself away all by yourself. You’re not alone.”

Steve smiled softly. “I know.”

 

He followed her to the living room, eyeing the huge array of fast food and wine bottles spread out on the coffee table. 

Natasha dropped herself on the arm chair. “Didn’t know what you’d want so I got you everything. With Stark’s money. It’s for a good cause.”

 

Steve didn’t feel hungry. His stomach felt twisted and his chest tight. But he was sure if he’d try to escape, the fiery redhead would end up force feeding him, so he started chewing on a slice of pizza. 

“You don’t have to-” 

“Shut up, Rogers. It’s what friends do.” She pressed a glass of wine in his hand.

“You know I cant get drunk.”

“It still tastes good?”

He sighed and took a sip. Funerals and wine seemed to be a recurring theme.

 

“First mission Clint and I were on” Natasha said quietly, “I got distracted, thought I could handle the situation by myself and didnt pay attention. Clint got hurt, badly. Almost got him killed. He spent the night in surgery and I got drunk with cheap wine in a shabby motel room. Had the worst hangover when they let me visit him in the hospital and he wouldnt stop laughing at me.” 

 

Steve looked at her, eyes focused on her glass, her face open and vulnerable. 

He like that side of Nat, she showed it so rarely but when she did, he knew she trusted him. 

 

“I was colourblind, before the serum, did you know?” He said, watching the sunlight bounce of his friend’s red curls. “I was so excited when I got to paint in all colours for the first time. Spent a whole day just smearing paint around like a child with a set of crayons.”

Natasha smiled. “You dont paint much anymore.”

“Never really feel like it anymore. I stare at a blank canvas and just … dont know how to go from there. There’s so much going on but I can’t find a way to bring it onto the page anymore.”

He dropped the greasy pizza back on his plate. He’d have to make sure none of the leftovers got thrown away, maybe go downtown and see if anyone on the streets needed it.

 

Growing up during the Great Depression and being on the front for a while meant Steve never took food and a warm bed for granted. Since his return from the ice he had done his best to help homeless shelters and veteran support foundations with this strange new fame and the money that had come from people using his name and likeness for comics, films and novels for decades.

 

Nat jumped up from the couch. She pressed a few buttons on the stereo and then stretched her hand out to him

Steve looked at her in confusion.

 

“Come on Rogers, don’t you trust me?” Her eyes twinkled. 

He took her hand.

She was a good dancer, swift and confident. 

At first, he reluctantly let her take the lead, following her steps politely, rolling his eyes. 

Then the song changed, a familiar tune that sent a shiver down his spine. 

 

_ “Who's strong and brave here to save the American Way? _

_ Who's vows to fight like a man for what's right, night and day?” _

 

Natasha grinned at him and made an overly dramatic salute.

 

_ “Who will campaign door to door for America? _

_ Carry the flag shore to shore for America? _

_ From Hoboken to Spokane?” _

 

She placed her hand on her heart and raised her fist, struggling to keep a straight face as she pretended to march with the music.

 

_ “The Star Spangled Man with a plan!” _

 

Steve couldn’t help himself. He burst out in laughter, the ridiculousness of the scene taking over despite himself. 

Energy flooded through him as he took over, guiding his friend through the song, the way Bucky had done with him decades ago, on a rooftop in Brooklyn. 

 

Natasha’s hair flew after her like a burning flame as she twirled and laughed.

Unexpected glee spread through Steve’s chest. For a moment, the worries and fears and grief fell off his shoulders, leaving him light and free, dancing through the living room, singing the lyrics of a decades old song on top of his lungs.

 

He knew it wouldnt last forever. He knew, in the back of his head, the loss and pain would return. 

But for now, he was soaring.

______________

>   
>    
> 
> 
> My Dad got out of prison and he was dangerous and I told him to stop.
> 
> I was scared.
> 
> Maybe I was a monster back then, too.
> 
> But Steve was my friend.
> 
> And I don’t think Steve is a monster.
> 
> He is good. I remember that.
> 
>  
> 
> I was in a war and I killed, even before I died, and Steve still was my friend.
> 
> I followed him. Into … jaws … monster … death… 
> 
>  
> 
> ___________
> 
>  
> 
> falling
> 
> I was falling
> 
> and I was scared
> 
> and it hurt so much
> 
>  
> 
> I wanted my Ma 
> 
> wanted to hear her sing and tell me it will be alright
> 
> but it hurt and there were strange men
> 
> and I thought Steve would save me
> 
>  
> 
> I always hoped Steve would save me
> 
> But he didnt
> 
> He never came
> 
> I was alone
> 
> and it hurt
> 
>  
> 
> But then he was there?
> 
>  
> 
> Til the end of the line, pal
> 
>  
> 
> I wanted him to be safe, to be happy
> 
>  
> 
> end of the line
> 
>  
> 
> he was the one who was falling and I jumped
> 
> he was breathing and i was glad
> 
>  
> 
> end of the line
> 
>  
> 
> when i was alive
> 
>  
> 
> I want to be alive again
> 
>  
> 
> ________
> 
>  
> 
> I dont like sleeping
> 
>  
> 
> it makes me dream
> 
> and when I dream, my head takes over
> 
> and I dream that I hurt people
> 
> and I dream of the handlers and they hurt me
> 
>  
> 
> except last night
> 
> I dreamt of when I was alive
> 
> I dont remember what exactly it was
> 
> but it was so peaceful
> 
>  
> 
> I really want to be alive
> 
>  
> 
> I’m wondering, sometimes, what would happen if the man from the bridge would find me.
> 
> If Steve would find me. 
> 
> I dont want him to, I am dangerous. 
> 
> Could he make me be alive?
> 
> He made me break through whatever they put in my head…
> 
> but I dont know for how long.
> 
>  
> 
> I dont have a name
> 
> I’m no one
> 
> I’m not alive
> 
> I can’t be
> 
>  
> 
> I just don’t want to fight anymore.

_______________

 

_ “They won’t let me see him!” Steve said furiously. He felt tempted to kick the conveniently placed jeep but he knew he’d probably bend the frame and break the whole damn thing by accident. He dug his hands into his hair instead. _

 

_ Agent Carter smiled sympathetically. “Give them some space. They’ll take good care of him.”  _

_ She’d done her best to make sure the best doctors took a look at Bucky, he knew that. She knew how much he meant to him.  _

_ He just hated letting him out of sight. They’d only just been reunited, walked all this way, Bucky putting on a brave face and joking around, like Steve couldn’t see the haunted look in his eyes, like he didnt wake him from his nightmares each night and held him, trying to get him back to sleep.  _

_ He hated feeling helpless. _

 

_ “They did something to him. Terrible things. That room he was in…” Rage burned through Steve’s veins, making him sick to the stomach. _

_ Peggy nodded grimly. “It is as we feared. They are trying to recreate the serum. From what the others could tell us, he’s the only one they saw go into the lab who came back out.”  _

 

_ Her gaze softened. “How long have you know Sergeant Barnes?”  _

_ “All my life, it feels like.” He answered. “He was always there, when I needed him. From schoolyard bullies to alley fights. Heartbreak. Loss.” _

_ Steve leaned against the the car, grabbing a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, offering them to Peggy. Her lipstick left a soft stain on it.  _

_ “He didn’t talk about it. Kept joking as though nothing happened. He’s not letting me in anymore.”  _

_ “They’re all like that after a while. They smile and laugh but behind the facade, you can see them fall apart. You’re not one of them yet. Things are different for you two here now, that type of trust is something you have to earn.” _

 

_ “He’s always been my hero…” _

_ “Then maybe now is your time to be his.” _

  
  
  


_________

 

The asset got better at being a human. 

Other people accepted him, trusted him, let him around them. 

He stopped looking over his shoulder all the time. He only flinched at loud noises.

So far, he’d told people fake names, aliases from old missions or names he’d read at the museum. 

But the longer he stayed, mixing in with them everyday, becoming part of their lives, the more he thought maybe it was time he had a name on his own again. 

 

There was a skinny rat in his shabby apartment. He’d named him Jerry, though he didn’t know why. There was something soothing about the small animal, caring for it, making sure it had food and water ready at all time. 

Sometimes he gave him a cardboard box and filled it with newspaper shreds to dig through.

The little guy never let the asset touch him but he didn’t seem afraid of him either. 

 

Sometimes he talked to the critter, about his day, about his memories.

It helped him sort through his head and the small animal wouldn’t judge him because he didnt really understand.

 

The asset watched the brown head bob in and out of the box, throwing the shredded paper around excitedly. 

“My name…” He croaked. “My name is… James?”

He frowned. It didn’t feel right. 

“I am James Buchanan Barnes.”

He shook his head.

“Sergeant Barnes” 

No. War and death and were undesirable. 

He remembered the man from the bridge, from his dreams, Steve.

The way he’d said the name. His face as he’d said it.

“Bucky.” The asset said softly. The name felt warm and gentle.

 

“My name is Bucky. Call me Bucky. I am Bucky.” He told Jerry the Rat.

Jerry clicked his teeth in approval. 

 

Somewhere in the depth of his broken brain, Bucky started to live again. 

_________

 

“I don’t like this. Everything about this feels wrong.” Steve stared at the TV screen, watching the round of wannabe celebrities in heated discussion. The sound was muted but their twisted faces and wild gestures told him they weren’t about to find an agreement. Which wasn’t very different from the Avengers team. If they even could still be called a team. Or Avengers.

 

Sam nodded darkly. “So you made your decision? You won’t sign it?” His eyes rested on the star spangled shield and armour neatly stored in the wardrobe of their hotel room. Always ready for battle. 

He shook his head. “I’m just here for Nat. And because the most active Hydra bases were around Austria and Germany. There must be something I missed the last time.”

“You know you’re a bit obsessed? At the rate things are going you’ll lose your title and that shield if you don’t sign up to their new club. For all we know your friend is safe and you aren’t.”

The soldier shook his head. “I wanted to help. I wanted to save people, prevent catastrophe. But I got distracted and innocent people died. He’s all I have left and I wont stop until I find him.”

 

Hurt flashed over Sam’s face. He shook his head. 

“All you have left, huh? Guess Nat and I don’t count for much.” 

“Sam...no thats not-” 

“I know. You lived a different life before us and he is all that’s left from your past. But you also have us. And we matter. We’re in this mess with you, like it or not. Those Accords affect us all.” 

 

Steve closed his eyes and lowered his head. 

“I know. And I am really grateful for everything you have done for me.”

He felt a hand grasp his shoulder. 

“I know it’s hard, man. Everything you two have been through together, that’s a bond you don’t just forget about. But you have to see the people you have in your life  _ now _ .”

 

“You can leave, you know.” He said, blue eyes staring at him intently. “Whatever I think of the Accords doesnt affect you, if you sign them you can remain an Avenger, keep your suit.”

Sam chuckled. “You really think I’m just here following your orders?”

Steve shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know, why  _ are _ you here? All I know is I dragged you into my personal mess.”

 

“Bro, technically I  _ outrank _ you. I’m not here following your every move cuz I feel like it’s my duty as a soldier. I believe in what you’re doing, in what we’re doing.” He left his hand rested on Steve’s shoulder.

“You’re my friend and I wanna help you find your buddy but also I want to do what’s right. Bringing SHIELD down after it got infiltrated was right, not killing the man they turned into their weapon was right and trying to bring down what’s left of a Nazi organisation was right. And I don’t think signing those Accords is the right course of action. We both just happen to agree on alot of things.”

 

He grinned. “Also, you look like hot mess and you could really use some sleep.” 

Steve took a small step forward, his head dropping against Sam’s shoulder, pulling him in a one-armed hug. “Thank you, Sam. I mean it.”

“‘course you do. Now go get some rest, signing’s not until tomorrow and you’re not helping anyone walking around like a glorified zombie.”

 

_________

>  
> 
> My thoughts are starting to make sense. Slowly.
> 
> I remember more. 
> 
> I remember my family and the boxing and the girls.
> 
>  
> 
> I didnt know I could feel this way.
> 
> I didnt know I could feel.
> 
>  
> 
> My ma used to tell me the best stories and I told them to Steve and he’d draw them for me.
> 
> Mum made me feel safe, until I was the one who had to make her be safe.
> 
>  
> 
> I love her very much. And the kids. I barely remember their faces or their voices and it hurts, but I remember what it felt like, when we all got together for christmas and prayed and sung and laughed.
> 
> I was happy.
> 
> I havent been happy in a very long time.
> 
>  
> 
> God, I miss them so much. 
> 
>  
> 
> They must be so old now. Or dead. 
> 
> I dont think any of them are still alive. 
> 
> Wouldnt recognize me anyway. 
> 
>  
> 
> Everyone is gone.
> 
> Except for Steve. 
> 
>  
> 
> The museum said he was frozen in ice for years and then he got out and now he is a hero again.
> 
> He always wanted to be a hero. 
> 
> It said so in the museum but I also remember, how his eyes glowed when he talked about his dad and the war and proudly he stood before the boys whenever they started hitting him. 
> 
>  
> 
> No matter how battered and bruised he got, he always got back up.
> 
> _________
> 
>  
> 
> Last night I had nightmares as always but I also dreamt about a fun fair and trying to impress a girl by winning prizes for her.
> 
>  
> 
> Steve was there too and he got sick.
> 
>  
> 
> I dont know if I remembered or just imagined. But it seems an odd thing to just make up.
> 
>  
> 
> I started to decorate my flat a bit. Found a dish towel that looks like the one mum got for christmas one year. Me and Becca saved up for it, a nice linen one with flowers on it. 
> 
>  
> 
> The library has public computers that I can use to research things. They taught us how to use them, the handlers, and I’m sure I could do more than that if I tried, but I dont want to.
> 
>  
> 
> I cant find anyone from my family. I dont think they are around anymore. All I could find was my parents’ death days.
> 
> No info on a funeral or graveyard, nothing on my siblings or my aunt or my uncles.
> 
>  
> 
> Everybody is gone. 
> 
> I feel more alive these days and it hurts.
> 
> Maybe I dont want to be alive.
> 
>  
> 
> But Steve is still out there.
> 
> And he wanted me to live.
> 
>  
> 
> What they put in my head, it went away when he was there. 
> 
> Just for a moment.
> 
> I knew I didnt want him to die.
> 
>  
> 
> _________
> 
>  
> 
> Til The End Of The Line
> 
>  
> 
> Why do these words still make me feel so much?
> 
> They hurt. But they feel good. At the same time.
> 
> I said them and I meant them. 
> 
> And then Steve said them and he meant them, too.
> 
> I could’ve killed him and he would’ve let me.
> 
> And I forgot my mission. Because of him.

_________

 

He was here.

He’d come.

No, he had to leave, had to get away, had to be safe.

Steve has to be safe.

 

Bucky’s head was spinning, his heart racing. 

He’d pictured the moment, so many times had hoped, dreamt, wished he’d see him again but he’d known it was too dangerous.

Now Steve was here. Wearing that stupid costume that made him look like a toy for eight year olds. Like a comic book character. 

Stupid Steve. His Steve. 

 

His voice. His eyes. He was there.

Steve. 

Steve and Bucky. 

Bucky and Steve.

 

Fuck.

He had to get away from him, as far as possible.

This wasn’t safe.

And he didn’t want to fight anymore.

_________

 

The sound of gunshots and yelling rang in his ears, sending a screeching pain through his body. 

 

He could feel the Asset fighting, trying to take control, he felt the overwhelming urge to main, to tear them apart, to put his knives in the strange men’s soft skin and watch the light fade from their eyes.

 

It would be so easy. So simple. And painless.

If he’d just let It take control, the pain would stop and the noise would be gone and he would be at peace.

 

But he didn’t do that anymore. He’d promised himself. He’d come so far and now Steve was here and he was so  _ tired _ . 

 

So Bucky ran. And he kept running. Every move was planned carefully, every inch of the escape route mapped out. He disposed of the attackers easily, doing his best not to hurt them lethally.

He would’ve made it. He could have escaped.

If it weren’t for that damn cat.

 

What the actual fuck.

_________

 

The noise got louder and louder.

The Asset was screaming, fighting, getting stronger with each word.

Bucky begged the man to stop. 

His heart was racing with panic, the pain growing stronger and stronger, memories flooding over him, the voices of handlers ringing in his ears.

 

He fought it as long as he could.

And then the pain stopped and the world turned black.

_ Mission Override _

_ Mission: Kill _

_______

 

Steve felt the pain for only a moment, the dull ache spreading through his body.

Then he went numb.

He had failed him. Again. 

 

Maybe the Asset had been stronger than he’d thought.

Maybe Bucky was truly gone. 

But

His eyes

 

He had to hope.

Right now, that was all they had.

_________

 

He didn’t know who he was.

The Winter Soldier who everyone feared and hated.   
Sergeant Barnes, the war hero who fought and died on the front.

Or Steve’s Bucky who saved skinny boys from alley fights.

Whoever he was, he was  _ someone. _

And he wanted to live.   
So he ran.   
And he fought.    
Not lethally, not violently, not like the Asset had.    
But with determination.

 

_ I am alive. _

_________

 

Tony had once said he didn’t trust a man without a Dark Side.

This was it. 

 

The Dark Side of Captain America.

Steve Rogers. 

 

The man who didn’t fight for his country. 

He fought for himself, his own beliefs.

Maybe he fought out of love, maybe he fought out of guilt.

 

But he would fight, he’d face anyone who stood in his way.

This time he wouldn’t let his friend down. 

This time he’d keep him safe.

 

So many had tried and so many had failed.

 

But in the end, it was Steve Rogers who killed Captain America.

 

__________

 

Steve gently placed his friend on the battered couch, wrapping the blanket around him so it covered the shredded remains of the metal arm. He touched his forehead gently, feeling the skin burning hot under his palm. There was no way to tell if it was fever or just whatever serum they’d given him.

“I’ll be right back” he whispered, heading to the kitchen to dig through the supply cabinet. 

 

Too many things had happened, too many thoughts roaring in his head. 

He pushed them all away. None of them mattered. Bucky was with him and he’d make sure he’d be safe. 

 

The clanging of the vibranium shield as it hit the ground echoed in his head. 

The image of the silver star dropping into the snow as he tore it off his chest.

Tony outlines against the settling dust as he appeared from the wreckage, the shield losely in one hand, picking up the star and watching wordlessly as Steve pulled Bucky into the jet and gave his former ally a gloomy salut, before the jet’s autopilot carried them away. 

 

Steve knew it wasnt the last time he’d seen him.

They’d both done things that were wrong. But he also knew they had both fought for what they believed in and he couldn’t hold that against him.

Maybe one day Steve would be able to fully forgive Tony for what he did to his friend. And he hoped Tony could do the same.

 

He found a few bandages and  clean rags that he soaked in warm water and went back to Buck, kneeling next to the couch and gently washing the dirt from the injured man’s skin. 

“Tell me if I hurt you.” He said quietly.

“You could never hurt me.” Bucky answered, his eyes steady but haunted. 

Steve shook his head slowly. He placed his hand on the other man’s chin, raising the damp cloth and carefully dabbed at the torn skin. 

He could hear Bucky’s breathing grow steadier. 

 

“Just like old times, huh?” He murmured, eyes closed. His voice sounded slightly shaky. 

Steve noticed the small quiver on his lips and the glistening tears under the dark lashes.

His heart felt heavy with sympathy. 

The wound had already stopped bleeding but the dried blood and dirt left the rag stained . 

Quiet and calm came over Steve, the familiar face so close to his own, eyes closed and expression relaxed in absolute trust. He lowered the piece of fabric and slowly stroked a strand of hair from Buck’s face.

A wave of gratefulness washed over him. They were both alive. They were together. It would all be okay now. Somehow.

 

A tear rolled down the dusty skin, drawing it’s trail on Bucky’s cheek. Without thinking, Steve wiped it away with his thumb. For a moment he was back in the small apartment in Brooklyn, curled up with his best friends, holding on to him as he felt his world crash around him. 

It seemed some things never changed.

 

“I’m sorry.” Bucky said hoarsely, opening his eyes, looking up at Steve.

“I just … “ He drew a shaky breath, “I forgot what it’s like. To be touched. And not have it hurt. Just … it’s … nice. Peaceful.” He furrowed his brows in confusion. 

“Don’t apologize. It’s okay.” Steve said with a soft smile, fighting the urge to wrap his arms around his friend. 

“I’ll have to take a look at the other wounds, okay? It’s might hurt.” 

Bucky nodded, closing his eyes again, leaning back. 

Slowly, Steve peeled off what was left of Bucky’s armour, his chest tightening painfully as he saw the skin underneath.

 

A map of scars covered him.

They were faint, clearly healed by the chemicals they’d pumped into their Asset, but still visible to the naked eye. Some of them looked like battle scars, guns and knives leaving their mark as they had on himself. 

But his chest showed the soft but unmistakable traces of torture.

  
Steve felt sick. 

He placed his palm flat on the skin, feeling the heat and the slightly accelerated heart beat.

“Not so pretty anymore, huh?” Bucky said hoarsely. 

“You once told me the ladies like scars.” Steve joked weakly. “You must be irresistible now.”

His hands were shaking slightly as he continues to clean and wrap the fresh wounds, his stomach still churning from shock and anger.

At least it was something to do. Distraction, keeping him from addressing the things he didn’t know how to talk about. 

 

When there was nothing left to do but wait, he just stared at his friend helplessly, fighting the emotions tearing at him in an endless storm of rage and pain and relief and joy.

“I’m so sorry…” Steve choked. “I should’ve come for you, I should’ve saved you, I let you down again and again, you were always there for me and when you needed me I-” 

 

Bucky pressed his hand over Steve’s lips, staring at him. 

“Stop. Please.” He closed his eyes and drew a deep breath. “I never blamed you, Steve. You know I never would.” He lowered his hand, letting it rest against Steve’s shoulders. “When bad things happen, you can go back and blame every single person and every single decision along the way but it’ll never change what happened. You and I both know that. All we can do is stay strong and move on.”

 

They sat in silence for a while, the air feeling heavy around them.

Steve finished cleaning and patching up as much as he could with the limited equipment.

It was the first time since the apartment in Romania that they were together undisturbed and there were so many things to say and all of them felt useless. 

Bucky stared at the dusty floor, afraid of looking up, scared of what might happen if he looked up and saw those huge blue eyes stare at him. He could feel it, tingling on his neck, Steve’s eyes resting on him. He was painfully aware of how close they were to each other, his own bare skin, exposed and vulnerable, only inches away from Steve’s hands.

 

He wasnt sure what he felt. He knew the Bucky of the past had loved Steve, had wanted him, watched from the distance when no one else was looking. 

But the Bucky of the present, the shards of himself that were left after all these decades, wasnt sure. It was hard to tell sometimes what feelings and thoughts where his own and what was just an echo of who he had been.

 

“How much do you remember?” Steve asked softly. “From before.”

There was a soft rustling sound and Bucky felt the weight of the slightly scratchy blanket being placed around his shoulders. The strange texture of the fabric reminded him of improvised beds in old stables and freezing nights sitting guard in the snow.

 

“Everything and nothing at all.” He said slowly. “When I …woke up. There was this instinct, this idea of who I was but I couldnt reach out to it.” Bucky’s eyes remained fixed at the ground, his brows knitting together in thought as he tried to explain. “It’s like there’s this barrier in my head and it hard to get to the other side of it.

“There were dreams and memories and echoes of who I was. I’m trying to make sense of it all.”

 

Steve’s brows knitted together in deep thought. “We’ll get there. We’ll figure it out.”

Bucky shook his head slowly. “I know you want your friend back. The boy you remember. The one from the museum.” He tore his eyes of the dust dancing in the pale light and looked up in Steve’s face. It was agony. “I am not him, Steve. That Bucky you remember is gone.”

Grief shadowed Steve’s features, but he nodded.

“I know.” He let out a shaky breath. “I dont expect you to be. It’s just… fighting alongside you…patching up your injuries afterwards... a bit like old times. It’s so morbid and selfish, with everything that’s happened but … I was just so grateful to have you back.”

 

“I know. So was I.” 

Steve looked at him in surprise. “I thought you wanted to get away from me. I kept looking for you, ever since you pulled me from the water but you kept running away.”

 

Bucky took a deep breath. It was so hard to explain, all these things in his head barely made sense to himself, how was he going to make Steve see? 

“I remembered the night of your mother’s funeral. When …  _ it  _ fought you in that helicarrier. Not much, just flashes and feelings but enough to know I wanted to protect you, not harm you. It just took time to figure out where to go from there.” 

He couldnt remember when he’d last talked this much and his throat felt dry and raspy. 

“You were all that I had. All I could remember, for a while.” Bucky held his breath and tried to hold eye contact, despite his heart beating painfully strong against his ribcage. “I think mostly whats left of the Bucky you knew is the man who loved you more than anything else in the world. There’s echoes of him, the things he felt, his thoughts. I’m trying to figure out how much of that is me.”

 

Steve felt a wave of emotions crashing over him. Bucky’s honesty took him by surprise. This felt alot more like the scared man from the journal than the confident, distanced soldier he’d been in the months before the fall. 

His breath caught in his throat, tight with emotion. 

“I love you, Buck. Don’t think I ever told you that.”

He gently took Bucky into his arms, pulling him close, resting his head against the dirt-caked hair. 

“You didnt have to.” He whispered.

 

They fell asleep leaning on each other, feeling safe and at peace for the first time in 70 years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where my plan for the main story ends. Some epilogue-ish fluff will follow soon!  
> Thanks all for your kudos and comments, this is my first ever long fic that I actually finished/intent to finish and it's been quite the journey.  
> Thinking back there's alot of things that I would do differently now, but I am in no way done with these two, so I'll just do it better next time!
> 
> Other notes to this chapter:  
> \- Nat and Steve dancing around like idiots is a bit random but I really wanted to include that because that's how my roommates usually get me out of a really bad day.  
> \- the part of Steve seeing Peggy's lipstick colour after the serum got injected is something I've seen in a few other fics and I really liked the idea  
> \- Bucky being friends with a rat is mainly due to me being a rat mum and I still needed a moment in which Bucky "switches" from asset to person


End file.
